


Tumblr prompts

by stellarbisexual



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 40s Reddie, Accidental Voyeurism, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, BDSM, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Richie Tozier, Clubbing, College, Doctor Eddie, Drunken Flirting, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Grinding, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Making Out, Masturbation, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Patient Richie, Phone Sex, Riding, Rimming, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Is Fun, Sharing a Bed, Slurs, Tickling, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 27,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarbisexual/pseuds/stellarbisexual
Summary: Just a place to house all my Tumblr prompt fills!*This one's for reddieforlove, who had a tough day and requested: maybe something where Eddie is a nurse or a doctor at a hospital and Richie is a patient that has some minor injury but is flirting hardcore and making Eddie all flushed





	1. Get in there, Doctor K

“I can’t believe you brought me to the ER,” Richie throws at Bev for the fifth time.  “I hereby disown you, madam.”

Bev’s busy sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to turn on the tiny flatscreen TV with what looks like a remote control from 1987.  Or another planet. “I’m telling you, you can’t take any chances with a head injury. Remember Natasha Richardson? That shit scarred me for life.  Better safe than sorry.”

“Well,” Richie sighs, relaxing into the flimsy pillow behind his head, “Remind me to send you the bill for a million dollars when it comes.”  He doesn’t have insurance at the moment.

There’s the click-clack of fancy shoes outside.  They stop on a dime. Richie looks up, nearly choking on his own spit at the sight of the cute, young doctor paused in front of the open doorway to his room--long white lab coat and everything, plus a head of tousled chestnut brown hair and pretty hazel eyes.  He peruses Richie’s chart with an adorably furrowed brow.

Richie leans toward Bev and manages to sneak in a whisper just before the doctor comes in: “I take it all back, every word.  This was the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Hi, Richard?” he says briskly, extending a neat little hand toward Richie.  “I’m Doctor Kaspbrak.”

“Richie,” he replies, or corrects, then actually chokes on his own spit this time.  Hearing this gorgeous man refer to himself as  _ Doctor _ might be enough to give him a boner in the ER.

The doctor stares at him with an amused, patient smile as he gets his breath and his ability to speak back.  “...You okay?”

“More or less,” Richie says, realizing belatedly that his head’s still pounding from earlier.

“Is this your…?”  Doctor Dreamy gestures to Bev.

“Uhh  _ friend _ and  _ nothing _ more, thanks,” Bev is quick to say, dropping the remote to give him a firm handshake.  “Beverly.”

“ _ Ouch _ ,” Richie directs at her before turning expectantly back to the doctor, to whom he’s taken to internally referring as his future husband.

“So, tell me what happened,” he says, already pulling out one of his tools: one of those pointy flashlight thingies Richie used to despise when he went for check-ups as a kid.  

“A bunch of, uh, baking sheets fell off the top of the fridge and hit me in the back of the head.”

There’s a pause.  Bev swallows a laugh.

“How are you still finding this funny?”  Richie pinches her leg.

“I will never not find this  _ hilarious _ .”

Dr. Kaspbrak gives him a look.  “How many baking sheets are we talking here?’

“Three, three or four.”

Bev chuckles again.

“And did you lose consciousness at any point?” he asks.

“Only five seconds ago, when I saw how gorgeous you were.”  Richie figures he may never see this guy again; might as well go for broke.

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” Bev says under her breath, sounding mortified.  

The doctor ignores his remark, though, driving right through his line of questioning.  Or trying, anyway. “Any vision problems?”

“Nope, not apart from the usual, anyway.  I can still see how super hot you are,” Richie shoots back, throwing in a wink for good measure.  “That’s not lost on me.” It’s really not; the guy looks even better up close. He’s got  _ freckles _ , for God’s sake.  

He narrows his eyes at Bev.  “Is he always like this?”

Before Bev can reply with an affirmative, Richie says, “If you’re trying to get at whether or not I’m a flirt, well, the answer is a hard maybe.  But: I am nothing if not monogamous in my flirting. And I am hopelessly devoted to you, Doctor K.”

“Pretty impressive, after only knowing me for two minutes.”

“Well, that’s all it takes, in your case.”

“Uhh,” Bev starts, pointing toward the door.  “Should I leave?”

“ _ No _ , please don’t,” the doctor says.  “So you’re saying you didn’t black out or anything when the injury happened?”

“No,” Richie confirms, trying to be serious, at least for the time being.  “It was just shocking. Freaked me out, is all.”

“Well,” Doctor Hot Stuff drawls, shining the pointy light into Richie’s ear, “I hope whatever you were baking was worth it.”

Bev clears her throat.  “It definitely wasn’t pot brownies.”

Richie’s Future Husband starts massaging his fingers into the front of his neck, then the side, then the back.  He smells really fucking good. Richie’s eyes go heavy. “They were totally pot brownies,” Richie whispers.

The doctor smirks at him.  Richie realizes belatedly that the guy must be kind of tiny, if they’re almost eye-to-eye with each other like this.  “Then that explains why you won’t stop hitting on your doctor.”

“No, I told you: devoted,” Richie says, chancing a little smirk of his own.  “And sober. I promise.”

Doctor Kaspbrak steps back a little, asking Richie to follow his finger as he moves it up and down and side to side in a crucifix pattern.  Damn, he’d make a really hot priest, too, Richie thinks.

“Okay, so the good news is that there’s no sign of a serious head injury.  You may still have a concussion, but the symptoms of that might not show until as much as 72 hours from now, so it’s too early to tell.  If you do end up having a concussion, you’ll want to stay away from screens, try not to read or work too much--anything that strains the eyes.  But there isn’t anything special that we would do.”

Richie’s eyes drop to his stethoscope, noticing the rainbow sticker pressed to the back of the round metal part.  “So I won’t be coming back to see you?”

“Not unless your symptoms worsen.”  The doctor shoves his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.  

“...Not even to take you out on a date?”

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” Bev says, standing and shuffling out the door without another word.

The doctor’s face is flushed, and wow, does that suit the hell out of him.  He hesitates, gnawing on his bottom lip for a brief moment. “If you have all your faculties about you a week from now, and you’re definitively not in my care anymore, then… sure.”  He smiles, and it’s such a warm thing, Richie almost wants to touch it.

“Huh?” he says dumbly.  “Wait, what?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”  

And with that, the love of Richie’s life exits the room, leaving him sitting up in bed with his jaw in his lap.  


	2. In which Eddie gets hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: prompt: “I kinda wanna...” “kinda wanna what?” “nothing never mind” “no, what were you going to say?”

Richie has no idea how Eddie convinced him to help bake ten dozen gingerbread cookies for the debate team’s bake sale.  But: he suspects the way Eddie came back looking after spending the summer in Vermont with his cousins may have something to do with it.  

The rest of the Losers had spent plenty of time and attention on Richie’s transformation between sophomore and junior year (shooting up seven inches’ll do that), but how the fuck have his five other friends not mentioned  _ anything  _ about how Eds has just fucking...blossomed?  It’s a cheesy word,  _ blossomed _ , but it fucking fits the situation.  

Eddie, who’d left Derry in the middle of July still tiny and sweet-looking--adorable--had returned about four or five inches taller, though still slightly on the shorter side for a guy, with a killer tan and streaks of gold shot through his now floppy, somewhat wavy chestnut hair.  His shoulders are definitely broader; that’s the thing that’s really throwing Richie for a loop. He’s more defined in general, especially in his legs, in a way that’s never been in the cards for Richie and probably never will be. Even his smile looks a little different, a little more knowing.  Playful. And the worst part? He doesn’t seem to have any goddamn idea. He hasn’t even made a total wardrobe upgrade, one of his same old t-shirts  _ clinging  _ to his new shoulders like it doesn’t want to let go.

Richie gets it.  He sure as shit does.  Ever since school started back up again, he’s found himself a little less inclined to tease Eds the way he always has, kind of fucking  _ shy _ around him sometimes, which, when the fuck has Richie Tozier been  _ shy _ ?

He manages to tune back in to Eddie, picking him up in the middle of some story about running into their physics teacher in Vermont and how bizarre it was to see him in khaki shorts and sunscreen.  Richie bites his lip through a smile as he watches him yap; their friends may call  _ him _ Trashmouth, but Eddie’s the one who never shuts the fuck up, at least when he’s with Richie.  

Yeah, he may have gotten kind of fucking hot, but he’s still adorable, too, his Eds.  

After rolling out the sticky, spicy dough with a pin, Eddie tosses the hair out of his eyes and swipes the heel of a floury hand over his forehead--to avoid getting the batter all over his face.  

Richie can’t help but stare, his eyes shifting as they take all of him in.  He’s been wanting to say this for weeks. “Holy shit. You--.” He stops himself.

Eddie just lets out a low, patient, “Yeeaaaaah?” and sucks some batter off the tip of his thumb.

Richie turns full-body, leaning a hip against a kitchen drawer.  He shimmies to take the seriousness out of it, murmuring, “I kinda wanna” in his best Mae West voice.

“Kinda wanna what?”  Eddie’s voice sounds like it’s settled somewhere right between cautious and intrigued.  He looks up at him with those big, sparkling brown eyes, and  _ oh fuck _ , there’s bits of gold in those, too, now?  Richie is fucked. 

“...Nothing.  Nevermind.”

Eddie turns to him and tries hand-heeling that hair out of his eyes again.  “No, what were you going to say?”

Richie lets out his breath in a whoosh, fully prepared to do a whole lot of hesitating because he’s never been good at this, ever: kissing, dating, sex, any of it.  He’s great at talking shit about it, fantasizing about it, about it being good--but inserting himself into it, in real life? There’s always been a voice inside telling him, “Nah, this isn’t for you,” or “You’re not for it.”

But this is  _ Eddie _ , damn it.  He’s been smiling at that smile and looking into those eyes for almost ten years now.  

Richie reaches out, brushing that chunk of hair out of his eyes for him, and Eddie watches the movement out of the corner of his eye, his shiny veneer suddenly falling away.  Richie remembers that this is Eddie’s first kiss, his first anything, and oddly enough, that’s what pushes him to just fucking do it. Even if Eddie has no interest in kissing him again, the moment is too perfect, and maybe he’ll be okay with it.  They’re friends, right?

He cups Eddie’s sweet face with the only hand he’s got that isn’t sticky and fits their mouths together, sucking Eddie’s bottom lip just between both of his and then letting it slip out with a wet sound that leaves him wanting more.  

Eddie hums--doesn’t freak out, doesn’t pull away from him--and says, “I didn’t know you were…”

“Uh,” Richie starts, not taking his eyes off of Eddie’s face, not even for a millisecond.  “Surpriiiise,” he sings, shaking one sticky jazz hand in their periphery. 

Eddie drops his eyes to what little space there is between them and steps closer.  “Okay,” he says, curling his sticky hands into the open halves of Richie’s overshirt and slowly going in for another. 


	3. Lovebites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: Richie + hickeys ;)

The first time Richie gives Eddie a hickey, it’s a joke, or at least it’s meant to be.  It’s a sweaty summer afternoon, Richie’s got the fan going in his dusty, dark little bedroom, and they’re reading comics.  They get into an argument over who’s the better superhero, Spiderman or Superman, which leads to a wrestling match on Richie’s carpet--and then Richie flipping the bottom of Eddie’s t-shirt up and blowing raspberries onto his stomach.  

“Stop it, you dick!” Eddie shouts through a smile, Richie’s own laughter muffled by the curve of his tummy.

Then Richie sinks his teeth in and sucks, tongue laving at Eddie’s skin between his two big rows of teeth.

It’s not meant to be anything more than what it is, just Richie fucking around, but what it actually is seems to strike the both of them at the same time: Richie suctioning a fucking bruise into Eddie’s skin, Eddie’s hips coming slightly off the floor and and his hands pulling on Richie’s hair. 

Eddie flushes from his face down to his chest.  He shoves Richie off of him just as the mark starts to go crimson, and nearly catapults to his feet, out of Richie’s room, down the stairs, and out the front door.

-

The second hickey happens junior year.  They’ve been messing around in total secret for weeks--not even the other Losers know.  

They’re in Richie’s pickup truck, Eddie straddling Richie in the front seat because he’s been thinking about this through class after agonizing, inane class all fucking week and he couldn’t wait, Richie’s lips juicy and wet between his teeth.

Richie nudges his face aside so he can start mouthing down his neck, hands charmingly awkward in their eagerness to map a path under Eddie’s shirt, huge as they wrap around his waist.  He fastens his teeth to Eddie’s skin just under the edge of his shirt collar, where his neck slopes into his shoulder. 

Eddie’s gasp is a loud stuttering thing in the intimate space of the car.  “Rich, someone’ll see--” He breaks off, gasping again as Richie sucks harder, and rolls his hips into Richie’s crotch.  A helpless, breathless laugh bursts from Eddie’s mouth. “I think I’m gonna come in my pants.” 

Richie removes his mouth for only enough time to say, “Good,” and then continues sucking the bruise there.  

-

By senior year, they’ve developed a habit of sneaking off during parties and the weekly Loser gatherings, much to their friends’ annoyance, though they get that Eddie and Richie are hormonal and in love and still in  _ deep _ lust, so they tolerate it as best they can.  

The laundry room in Bill’s basement is one of their preferred spots for making out and generally making each other crazy.  

They’re supposed to be upstairs with the others watching  _ Groundhog Day _ for Stan’s eighteenth birthday, but Eddie’s laid out sideways on top of the dryer, legs wrapped around Richie’s waist, and Richie’s just fucking peppering his hips with bruises.

“You planning on majoring in giving me blue balls next year?” Eddie teases, his voice tight with a mixture of ecstasy and frustration. 

Richie lifts his dark eyes as he unsnaps the button fly on Eddie’s jeans and starts inching the waistband of his briefs down.  “With a double major in letting you come in my mouth as hard as you want.”

“We don’t have ti--” Eddie starts to protest, but then Richie’s licking the head of his dick into his mouth and Eddie has to bite down on two of his knuckles to keep quiet, one heel kicking a dull, metallic rhythm against the side of the dryer.

-

Their first week at NYU, one of the RAs in their dorm--one on another floor, thankfully--is clearly interested in Eddie, hovering all close and asking about what fucking hair products he uses, of all things.

Richie, who’s been watching silently in the bathroom mirror as he brushes his teeth, is tempted to chime in with “Just my jizz” or something equally clever.  

Instead, he spits into the sink, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and strolls over, sweatpants low on his hips and hair still wet from his shower.  He wraps both arms around Eddie’s waist, rucking his shirt up and making the hem rise just enough to reveal a gorgeously purpling bruise just below his navel.  His thumb strokes over the mark as he meets the eyes of Eddie’s admirer. 

“S-Sorry, I didn’t realize,” the guy starts, with probably no intention to finish the sentence, his eyes darting down and catching on that stretch of Eddie’s skin.  Eddie gives him a bashful shrug and a smile. 

As soon as the guy’s gone, Eddie turns in Richie’s arms, a knowing curl to his lip.

“Trademark Richie Tozier,” his boyfriend explains, his fingers brushing over the hickey just enough that Eddie half-relives how he got it.  


	4. Naptime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from @hurleyhugo: you want reddie prompts??? i'm so terrible with coming up with ideas but maybe college reddie, something a little smutty and a little fluffy

Richie’s not really one for napping; he’s not really one for sleeping in general, subsisting on coffee and gummy worms and Nerds rope and his own “joie de vivre,” as he likes to put it.  But he  _ loves _ to help Eddie nap.  And powering through the end of their final semester of college has required a lot of naps.  All Eddie has to do is come shuffling into the kitchen where Richie’s snacking or the living room where Richie’s reading with that sweet look on his face, and Richie’s swift on his feet.  

He shuts all the lights in all the rooms, pulls the blackout curtains in their bedroom closed, lights a lavender-scented candle on the bedside table, and turns on Eddie’s white noise machine, Eddie falling into their bed with a grateful sigh.  Richie shuts the bedroom door, climbs in after him, and wraps both arms around him, pulling him in nice and tight, and presses his mouth to the back of his neck. Eddie’s usually good for about forty minutes like that (no more or he’ll wake up cranky and kind of headachey).  He’ll stir on his own, and Richie, still awake, will welcome him back to consciousness with a gentle squeeze and a kiss to his shoulder. 

The last few weeks, though, forty minutes is often not nearly enough, Eddie perpetually sleep-deprived and a little faded.  Alarms are necessary, and when those fail, Richie has to urge Eddie out of bed or off the living room sofa, as much as he doesn’t want to.

It’s the day before the first draft of his final chapter is due, and Eddie snuggles more deeply into the crook of Richie’s neck as his iPhone tinkles.  

Richie pushes his fingers gently through Eddie’s hair.  “Come on, shortcake, you’ve gotta wake up.” He kisses his temple, trying to soften the blow.  “You told me to not let you sleep more than an hour.”

Eddie groans.  “‘M awake.” The finish line of his thesis has happened to coincide with a serious case of senioritis for Eddie.  Even though he’s almost done, he can see the light at the end of the tunnel, he kind of regrets agreeing to do a thesis at all.  All he wants right now is to do the bare minimum so he can graduate and start his life with Richie, one in the real world, with jobs and vacations and maybe a dog--and, more importantly, no more fucking papers.

He sucks a kiss into Richie’s neck and inches up the hem of his t-shirt.  “I’m very awake.” He slinks down the mattress, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center line of Richie’s stomach, tongue slipping out to taste the hair leading down to his boxer briefs.  

Richie shakes his head with a deep sigh.  “Sneaky, baby. I know what you’re doing. It’s not going to work.”  Eddie’s vicious little mouth starts sucking a bruise into his left hip, and he grabs his chin, fixing him with a look.  “You have to finish that chapter.”

Eddie makes his eyes ultrawide.  “Right now?” He unbuttons Richie’s jeans and hooks his fingertips into the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling it down just enough so he can nuzzle into the dark, dark hair there.  

“Jesus,” Richie breathes.  “You’re evil, Eds. You’re pure evil.  You know I can’t resist your sweet, sweet lovin,’ and you’re totally taking advantage.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Eddie says, scraping his teeth over Richie’s sensitive skin, making his hips rise off the mattress, and sliding his small, tidy hands up his sides. 

Richie quickly takes him by the shoulders and flips him.  “You gave me explicit instructions to wake you up at three and make sure you go to the library and go to your carrel and finish that chapter.”  Before Eddie can protest--with his hands or his mouth--Richie reaches under his shirt and starts tickling him. “You said, and I quote, ‘I’ll probably try to sway you with my magic dick, but under no circumstances--’”

Eddie shrieks and giggles.  “That’s not what I fucking said!”

“‘--Under no circumstances are you to let me seduce you as a means of procrastination.’  That’s what you said.” Richie palms his cheek and kisses him sweetly. “Remember last month?  You were up the whole fucking night and just barely made it to your meeting with your advisor because you were editing to the last fucking second.  Because you paraded around in those little green shorts that drive me fucking bonkers--”

Eddie’s eyes light up.  “I can get them from my drawer.  They’re clean.”

“ _ No _ .”  Richie threatens to tickle him again.  “You are getting that adorable little ass out of bed, and you are going to the library.   _ Right now. _ ”

Eddie makes a face, going limp underneath him.  “ _ Fine. _ ”

Richie smiles wide, kissing him, though Eddie’s unresponsive.  “You’re gonna love me so much for this later. I promise.”

“Okay,” he pouts, hauling himself onto his feet, toeing his shoes back on and already heading for his backpack by the bedroom door.

Richie grabs his hand, pulling him back for a second.  “I’ll have dinner ready when you come back.”

“You’re going to cook?  That sounds more like a threat than a gift.”  Eddie pushes Richie’s hair out of his face, looking incredibly grateful despite his words.  

“No.  I’m going to order the best takeout you’ve ever had, baby.”  He pushes his face into Eddie’s neck and makes like he’s gobbling him up.  He gives him a push. “Go be a little academic badass. The shorts and I will be here when you return.”


	5. Misses & a Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I please prompt with Modern Reddie reunion in their 40s both of them divorced and Ready To Mingle at the club? (Sorry for the angsty prompt I’m just a dragon out here tryna hoard adult reddie reunion fic

Usually when Richie does this, it’s with a purpose.  But at forty-three and fresh off his third separation (which will inevitably lead to his third divorce--woof), he finds himself sitting at the bar feeling not so fucking purposeful.  At least it’s a gay bar; he couldn’t handle all that hetero peacocking right now. 

He’s in New York on a weeklong gig, the perfect set of circumstances to pick up someone pretty and willing and just have a bit of fun, maybe just for tonight if not the whole week.  But as he glances around the place, its cozy parameters packed to the brim with beautiful, well-dressed men, he feels his entire body give a resounding  _ Eh _ and asks for another scotch.  A lower shelf one. He doesn’t need to treat himself tonight, not in that way, either. 

When he turns back to the bartender and away from the rest of the room, it brings his line of sight to the guy suddenly sitting caddy-corner to him.  He looks very out of place--and like he’d rather be any other place. He’s dressed well but it’s more like the clothes are wearing him than the other way around.  He’s slight, with a sweet face and a wedding ring. And he’s alone. 

_ Interesting. _

He’s drinking white wine and has his back pointedly to the rest of the room, his shoulders looking like they’re in a perpetual pinch.  There’s an energy radiating off of him that Richie wants to sink his teeth into, and he can’t explain why, not even to himself.

The man shocks the hell out of him by speaking to him first.  And he has a sweet voice to go with the face. He leans across the bar, trying to get a better look at Richie’s eyes.  “I’m sorry to bother you, but… you’re so familiar.” 

“Heard that one before,” Richie teases.  “Used that one before, I think.” Before the guy can protest, Richie opens himself up physically.  “You’re not bothering me at all, sweetheart, quite the contrary.” He can’t help but fixate on his wording:  _ You’re so familiar _ .  Not  _ you look familiar _ .  

“It’s not a line, I promise,” he laughs bashfully.   _ Cute.   _ “I wouldn’t even know how to do that."

Richie reaches over and taps his wedding ring.  “No shit,” he smirks, tucking into his scotch again. 

The man’s brows furrow intensely as he glances down.  “Oh.  _ God. _ ”  He immediately slips the ring off and pockets it.

_ Very interesting. _

“I can’t believe I forgot.  My divorce was just finalized, like, three weeks ago.”

With anyone else in this room, Richie would be skeptical.  But something about this guy makes him certain he’s being totally truthful.  “No kidding. Me too. Well, separation. Third time’s the charm, I always say.”  The man’s eyes go comically wide. Richie gestures between the two of them playfully.  “Twinsies.” He raises his glass, and the man obediently tips his wine glass against it.  “I hope you didn’t hyphenate or take his name ‘cause getting your name legally changed  _ back _ ?  Ugh.  What an absolute  _ bitch _ .” 

“Uh,” the guy blushes.  “No, she took my name. We were very traditional.”

“Well, well, well.  So your divorce was also your coming out party.  Or are you just here to give a really gay friend moral support?”  Richie knows the answer is no, though.

The man confirms it.  “You’re not wrong. Sort of a ‘straight by any means necessary’ mission.”

“Well, what god awful last name did you leave the poor girl with?  I have to know. To complete this harrowing tale.”

“Kaspbrak,” the guy shrugs.

“ _ Good God _ .  First you--”  Richie comes in strong, ready, as ever, with a fucking joke, but it dies once the name settles into his brain.  “Wait.” His own voice sounds vulnerable to his ears. “Did you say Kaspbrak?” He blinks, the sound of it sticky on his tongue.   

“Yes.  I  _ do _ know you, don’t I?   _ What’s your name? _ ”

“Richie Tozier,” he says quietly, nearly sick to his stomach with how overwhelming it all is.  The guy--Eddie, God,  _ Eddie _ \--blanches like he’s been hit in the face.  “Eddie fucking Kaspbrak.”

“Yeah, but you rarely called me that.”

“No, I wouldn’t, not in front of your mother, anyway.”

“No, I--wait,  _ holy shit _ .”  Eddie drains the rest of his stupid, adorable white wine with his stupid, adorable mouth, his brain clearly moving a mile a minute.  

Richie smiles, wide and breathless, at the profanity coming out of his mouth.  Yes. That’s his friend.  _ Eds. _

Eddie lays his hand over Richie’s, his eyes now full of fire.  “I mean you had about ten thousand nicknames for me, each one more horrible than the last.  Eddie Spaghetti, Shortstack--”

“Eds,” Richie chimes in, decisive.

“Yeah, that one wasn’t so bad,” Eddie concedes with a soft smile.  “Oh my God,  _ Richie _ .”  

The barstool scrapes violently over the floor as he scrambles to his feet, and he’s still tiny, his Eds, maybe five-seven at the most.  He lays his hands on Richie’s shoulders, and Richie crushes him in a tight, warm hug, tears springing to his eyes. Richie doesn’t even know where the emotion is coming from, the memories aren’t quite clear yet, not as clear as they already are for Eddie, he can feel it in the surrender of his body against his own.  

Richie isn’t bothered by the fact that he didn’t recognize Eddie at first, or that he even had trouble coming up with his name on his own.  He hasn’t seen the guy since they were kids, and it would stand to reason that his mind would let some things go. But something tells him that Eddie was way too important to him for that.  He silently curses himself--not for the first time--for all the hard drugs he experimented with in his twenties. 

He finally separates them and cups Eddie’s face with both hands, giving it a good, proper look.  “Wow. Who’d have known you’d grow up to be such a looker?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie sputters, completely without malice, and immediately reaches for Richie’s hair.  “This is the same,” he says, his eyes skating down his face, taking stock of each feature. 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Richie breathes, suddenly dizzy, and lands back on his stool, Eddie’s eyes and hands still busy exploring him.  “And to think, I was all set to take you back to my hotel and hit it and quit it with ya.”

Eddie looks at him quietly for a long moment, trying to calculate the old Richie plus the new Richie, from the looks of it.  “So you’re…?”

“So are you,” he shoots back.  It comes out childish.

“Since when?”

“Pfft.  Always. Even back then, I was--.”  He has a flash of some of the magazines he had stashed under his bed, under his comics--and then the ones stashed even deeper than that. 

“But you’ve been married three times.”

“Well, I like both,” Richie clarifies.  “The first two times I married women, and the last…”  He looks at Eddie and winces. “He looked a lot like you, you know.”  He shouldn’t have said it, but the way Eddie blushes makes him glad he did.  

“That’s weird,” Eddie says, without judgment.  

“Something tells me it’s not.”

Eddie finally sits down again, too, the air between them sliding quickly into an intimacy Richie wasn’t prepared for, not tonight.  And from the look in Eddie’s eyes, eyes that are like a home Richie never knew he had, Richie suspects exploring that is going to take a hell of a lot more than a week.


	6. Special Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combined two prompts! ->
> 
> NSFW in which Eddie tells Richie all the things he loves about him. I am not getting enough Eddie giving Richie love these days! Please and thank you!  
> AND  
> richie compliments eddie all the time but eddie doesn't compliment richie as much (not on purpose, that's just not how he talks) but richie has a low self esteem moment and eddie helps

Richie nearly ejects off the couch at the sound of Eddie’s voice by the front door.  (“Rich?”) He’d gotten Eddie a spa gift certificate for his birthday, since he’d said he’d always wanted to try it--and grad school’s been stressing him out to the point of near insanity.

“Baby!  How was it?” he crows, turning the corner into the foyer and smiling at the far-off, dreamy look on his boyfriend’s face as he lets his coat fall off the ends of his hands and onto the floor.  Richie laughs. “You look drugged.”

Eddie turns to him, his gait all floaty, that relaxed smile plastered to his sweet face.  “Hi, gorgeous.” He throws his arms over Richie’s shoulders and pulls him down for a slow, open-mouthed kiss.  

Richie’s face flushes, and he all but squeaks into Eddie’s mouth.  He nuzzles their noses together as they part. “Mm. Remind me to send you to the spa every fucking day for the rest of our lives.”

“You wanna make me your kept man, huh?  I’ll quit school, buy a pair of Lululemon yoga pants, and call it a day.”

“I’m definitely into you in yoga pants.”  His hands drift down his boyfriend’s sides and underneath his soft henley, thumbs caressing the lines of his flat stomach.  “Did you get a  _ treatment _ ?  How was your  _ treatment _ ?”

They’d spent much of the last few weeks lowkey making fun of the spa menu and working the phrase  _ treatments and experiences _ into their lives as often as possible.  

“I got a hot stone massage,” Eddie purrs, hands pushing gently through the hair at Richie’s nape, “and a pedicure.”  He brings his mouth right next to Richie’s ear, finishing with a whisper, “And I got waxed.”

An electric coil starts buzzing in the pit of Richie’s stomach.  He’s breathless. “ _ What?  ... _ Where?”

They’d spent almost as much time talking about the possibility of Eddie getting something waxed.  Richie hadn’t been  _ against it _ , per se, but, as he’d explained to Eddie, he thinks his boyfriend is totally fucking perfect from head to toe just the way he is, thank you very much, right down to the peach fuzz at the small of his back.  (Richie  _ loves _ that peach fuzz--and anything else Eddie has to offer him.)

Eddie keeps his mouth right where it is, whisper still intact.  “See for yourself.” He guides Richie’s hands down the back of his sweatpants.  He pulls back a little, watching Richie’s face as he experiences the closest thing he’s ever felt to an aneurysm.  

Richie shivers, his legs jelly, nearly falling to the fucking floor as his fingers glide over the top of Eddie’s ass, a span of skin so familiar to him made suddenly new in its smoothness.  

“It’s still a little bit irritated,” Eddie explains with a coy smile, “but that’s normal.  It’ll be perfect tomorrow.”

“It’s so  _ soft _ ,” Richie says, fingers creeping down to gently palm both cheeks.  

“It didn’t really hurt, either,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to Richie’s jaw.  “I’m not supposed to let you play with it for at least twenty-four hours.”

Richie whines outright at that.  “ _ Ba-by.   _ Seriously?”  

“Esthetician’s orders.  I’m not supposed to shower, either.”

“No fun at all, then.”

Eddie shakes his head vehemently.  “We can still have fun.  _ You _ can still have lots of fun.”  He palms Richie’s face, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.  “I feel very well taken care of… and I’d like to take extra special care of you, as a thank you.”

Richie groans.  Eddie never talks like this.  Eddie never  _ acts _ like this.  And Richie loves him for it, but seeing this side of him…  “Eds, you’re fucking killing me right now.” His words string together to make one single, agonized one.  

“Well, come let me kill you in here,” he says, extracting Richie’s hands from the back of his sweatpants and guiding him to their bedroom.  

Richie watches with an incredulous expression as Eddie clears a couple of his open textbooks from the bed, tossing them carelessly to the floor as if their contents haven’t been at the epicenter of every conversation they’ve had over the last three months.  “What did I do to deserve you?” he says offhandedly before launching himself onto the bed, the whole mattress bouncing from the impact of his tall frame. 

Something shifts in Eddie at what he’s said, though; he can tell by the way he sits gingerly at Richie’s side and just looks at him.

“...What?”  Richie chews on his bottom lip.

Eddie picks up one of Richie’s hands, playing with it.  “I can’t look at my man?” he jokes, putting some sass on the end of it.

“Not much to look at,” Richie laughs, gesturing to his horribly mismatched outfit and everything else that makes him a giant walking eyesore.  “‘Sides, I’d rather you touch.” He wiggles his fingers along Eddie’s side, imploring. 

Eddie’s expression remains serious.  His voice is soft. “Why do you say that?  ...Do you really think that?” Richie rolls his eyes, ready to sit up and kiss the hell out of Eddie as a reply--it usually works--but Eddie pushes him back down flat.  “No, I’m serious.” He reaches for Richie’s face, palming his cheek and staring again. It’s unnerving. “Do you really think that you’re not much to look at?”

A broken, frustrated exhale explodes from Richie’s mouth.  He spazzes on the bed in frustration. “I mean, yeah, sometimes.  ‘Specially compared to  _ you _ , Eds--I mean, look at you.”  He waves an arm helplessly, gesturing to all of Eddie.  Everything about Eddie is precise and adorable, elegant, even, right down to his tidy little fingers and toes.  Sometimes Richie can’t believe it took him so fucking long to look at Eds in that way, he’s so objectively gorgeous, but he supposes he’d been busy falling in love with his fiery little self-righteous spirit first. 

“No, I’m looking at  _ you  _ right now,” Eddie says.  Richie huffs again, though he makes far less of a show of it this time, avoiding Eddie’s eyes.  Eddie gently brackets his chin with his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Rich. You’re  _ beautiful _ .  I’ve always thought so.”

Richie rolls his eyes again. 

“Wow.”  Eddie actually giggles at that.  He presses his palms into Richie’s shoulders, to better pin him there.  “For someone who  _ loves _ being the center of attention, you have a really hard time just sitting and taking a compliment.”  

Eddie’s hazel eyes go wide and fiery; he looks inspired as he climbs onto the bed and straddles Richie.  

Richie’s hands fall to his hips.  “Are you gonna  _ Clockwork Orange _ me or something?  Force me to listen to your compliments until I die from the torture?”

“Something like that,” Eddie murmurs, those eyes looking their fill at Richie and making him thoroughly uncomfortable.  

“Eds, come on, can we just--” Richie starts, long thumbs stroking Eddie’s skin underneath his shirt, trying to distract, but Eddie’s gotten snagged on whatever it is he’s trying to prove.  

“I’m gonna start at the top,” Eddie says, pushing both hands up into the unruly hair at the sides of Richie’s head, where it’s nice and thick.  “One of my favorite places.” 

Richie’s next protest quickly dies in his throat.  “You little minx,” he breathes. Eddie knows he goes gooey when he so much as grazes his hair.  When he plays with it or pulls on it, he’s an absolute goner. 

“Your hair is more you than anything else, probably.  It’s how I spot you in a crowded room. It’s how my body recognizes you.  I still get that feeling in the pit of my stomach when I spot this head of hair from far away.”

“Seriously?”  Richie blushes, a little embarrassed that he’s already taken with Eddie’s play at making him feel less pathetic about himself.  

“Yeah.  It’s you.  And it’s so gorgeous, Rich.  The way it twists and turns, every single strand with a mind of its own.  You know how crazy it makes me when you’ve just washed it and it’s really curly and soft.”  Eddie pushes his fingers into the hair at the top of Richie’s head and pulls straight up, gently, prompting a shaky little exhale from him.  “And it’s so dark, but when you’re in the sun, it’s got red and orange in it.”

Richie purses his lips, genuinely surprised.  “It does?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.  His hands slip down the sides of Richie’s face, thumbs drifting toward the corners of his mouth and parting his lips.  “Your mouth.” Eddie’s pupils go wide as he stares at it. Richie’s not sure he’s ever noticed that before. He’s been too busy looking at Eddie, he guesses.  “So full and soft and sexy.”

Richie squirms.  He’s really, really not fucking used to Eddie talking to him like this.  Hell, it’s a huge part of the reason they don’t do phone sex on the rare occasions that they’re apart for more than a day or two. 

Eddie leans in and licks along Richie’s bottom lip, then the top, making him hum.  Eddie confesses into his mouth. “Your mouth feels so good on me, sometimes I think I’m going to die.”

“ _ Jesus, Eds. _ ”

“Sit up.”

“Okay,” Richie breathes, bending at the hips, pressing a fierce kiss to Eddie’s mouth before he eases off of him and sneaks behind him, sitting propped up against the headboard, Richie’s tall frame tucked between his legs, leaning against his chest.  Richie looks over his shoulder playfully. “You there to talk about my butt?”

“ _ No _ .  Your shoulders.”  Eddie hooks his hands over them from Richie’s front and presses his face between his shoulder blades.  “Remember when you had that growth spurt? Between junior and senior year of high school.”

“ _ Yeah.   _ When I shot up from five-ten to six-three.  My mom was so pissed. I didn’t fit into any of my clothes anymore.”

“Your shoulders got wider, too.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.  I really noticed when we went to the quarry that summer.”  Eddie presses a kiss to the back of his neck, and Richie can feel him smiling.  “You took your shirt off by the edge, and I just couldn’t stop staring. I could see your muscles shifting under your skin, and your skin was all pink and freckly from the sun.”  Eddie pulls at the ends of the sleeves of Richie’s tee, silently urging him to take it off, so he does, tossing it over the side of the bed. Eddie presses open-mouthed kisses along his spine and speaks into his skin.  

_ Muscles _ .  Richie’d laugh if Eddie weren’t so obviously serious.  He’ll admit, he’s not as scrawny as he used to be, but he definitely doesn’t work out or anything--and he still considers his body the opposite of impressive.  

“Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I’ll just reach out and let my fingers trace your shoulders until my brain shuts up.”

Richie smiles softly.  “Wake me up next time, sweetheart.”

Eddie bites one of his shoulders.  “I do. ...Sometimes.”

Richie’s stomach muscles clench when Eddie’s cold fingers drift over them.  It’s strange, he realizes, for him to be shirtless and for Eddie not to be. And it’s strange that  _ that’s  _ strange, especially considering how long they’ve been together.  Maybe he doesn’t let Eddie take care of him as much as he should.  

Eddie’s fingertips dip into Richie’s belly button, and Richie folds over a bit, laughing.  Eddie smiles against his neck, breathless. “This.” Eddie’s fingers spread over the pattern of dark hair around and underneath his navel, drifting down and disappearing under his jeans.  “All this. So sexy. The way it smells, the way it tastes.”

“Eds, I literally want to pin you right now.”

“You’re not allowed,” Eddie chides, pinching just under his navel.  “This is about you. Oh. And your laugh--before I forget.” He kisses Richie’s neck sweetly. 

Eddie wiggles closer, extending his legs alongside Richie’s as long as they’ll go, toeing at his calves with socked feet, both hands resting on his stomach, fingers dipping just below his waistband.  

“I think I know what’s coming next,” Richie says, raising an eyebrow.  

“Legs,” they both say together.

“Legs, legs, legs, legs, legs,” Eddie confirms, then sighs deeply, shivering a little behind him.  “I just love how endless you are.” 

Richie feels Eddie’s face go hot against his neck.

“Remember when I avoided you for, like, two weeks the beginning of senior year?”

“Yeah?”

“Legs,” Eddie explains.  “One of our last trips to the quarry that summer… You picked me up and threw me into the water.  I doubt you remember; you used to do it all the fucking time. But that one time, I totally got hard and spent the beginning of the school year freaking out.”  Eddie laughs a little. 

“ _ Ohhh,  _ I _ like  _ this information.”

“I could barely sit still looking at you, just… how tall you were, knowing you could do that to me so easily.  I was still only, like, five-four then. I hated how much bigger you were than me… and I loved it. Still do.” Eddie intertwines their legs.   “I avoided all the Losers for a while, actually. I thought everybody knew.”

Richie turns his head just enough to purse a kiss to Eddie’s jaw.  “You don’t think I look like a muppet?”

“Well,” Eddie starts, his sharp eyebrows raised in amusement.  “You  _ act  _ like a muppet.  Sometimes. But the rest of the time--usually when we’re alone--you’re actually really graceful.  The way you own your space.” He slips his fingers into the spaces between Richie’s. “When you’re smoking or playing your acoustic.  Your long fingers… big, beautiful hands.” He raises one of said hands up and mouths at Richie’s thumb. 

“ _ Shit _ .”  Richie’s teeth scrape over his bottom lip.  

“Your voice,” Eddie continues, his own voice vibrating against Richie’s knuckle.  His tongue sneaks out to lick the skin there. “The way it sounds when I do this.”

Richie moans.  He can’t take his eyes off of Eddie’s mouth.  

But just then, Eddie drops his hand back into his lap, swiveling back around to Richie’s front and perching himself there, knees on either side of Richie’s hips.  He takes Richie’s glasses off, pushes his hair out of his eyes, and frames his face with his own hands. “Your heart. The way you look at me… the way you love me and protect me.”

“I do,” Richie whispers, leaning up just enough to accept a soft kiss, head tilted back.  “Fucking crazy about you. Always have been.”

“I know.  Me too, honey.”

The corners of Richie’s mouth curl up in a smile.  He surges up for another kiss. “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything about my eyes.”  He lets out a playful gasp. “ _ Or my sense of humor _ .  That’s it.”  He tips Eddie sideways onto the mattress.  “I’m getting a new boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Eddie protests, laughing, and effortlessly pulls Richie back onto the bed by curling one leg around his waist.  They knock into each other, Richie poking Eddie with one of his gangly elbows, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, pulling Richie in for another kiss, one that turns slick and sexy.  

“Seriously,” Richie says into his mouth, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was gonna send you to the spa every day for the rest of our lives.”  Eddie smiles, kissing a hot trail down Richie’s neck. “I don’t think I can afford that, though. Maybe I’ll just slip you an extra Xanax every once in a while.  It’ll probably have the same effect.”

Eddie bites his neck and pushes him onto his back, laying out on top of him and pressing his hands into the pillows above his head.  “I told you to shut up and let me thank you.”

“‘Kay.”

Things are different between them after that--and, more importantly to Eddie, within Richie.  He walks a little taller, laughs a little louder, and walks around pantless way more often than he used to.  And even though Eddie didn’t think it was possible, he loves him just a little more. 


	7. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Smutty Reddie prompt for Richie coming home late to find Eddie jerking off in bed while thinking of his cute dork boyfriend but Richie just watches from the space in the door because his Eddie is so beautiful like this.
> 
> +the fyeahreddie weekly prompt of "caught"
> 
> = this!

Even though they’ve been together literally forever--well, almost ten years--and have seen each other in the most compromising positions (and not just sexually), there are some things that still make Richie’s boyfriend bashful.  

Like going to the bathroom in front of each other.  After a round of shower sex, Richie has zero problem hopping over to the toilet and peeing in front of Eddie, who will always, without fail, immediately shriek, pull the curtain shut, and turn the water back on to drown out the sound of Richie’s piss.   _ Don’t you want there to still be  _ some  _ mystery, you heathen? _ Eds’ voice will echo along the tiles, and Richie will simply smile to himself. 

He can’t help it; he’s always wanted to know as much about Eddie as possible, even when they were kids, long before either of them had kissed anyone, let alone started messing around with each other.  It hasn’t always ended with their usual playful banter, either. He’ll never forget the time he swiped Eds’ journal in fifth grade. Eds had gotten so fucking pissed that he’d pushed Richie into his bookshelf with shaking hands, hard enough to make the bookshelf shake just as hard. 

Then there’s phone sex.  Nearly ten years in, and Richie still hasn’t stopped pushing for it whenever they’re away from each other for more than a couple of nights (a rarity, but still).  His most concerted effort had happened during his internship in LA their senior year of college. Eddie’d gotten so fucking tired of Richie’s pleading and attempts at trickery that he’d booked a flight to California on his emergency credit card, showing up on the doorstep of Richie’s shitty student housing apartment with a smirk, his overnight bag, and a, “You’re such a horndog, Jesus Christ.”

The one that gets Richie the most, though, is probably that Eddie’s never let him watch him get himself off.  Their sex life is not vanilla by any fucking means; despite Eds’ need for privacy, he’s been totally game for Richie exploring every inch of his body and then some.  But this is one thing that Eds hasn’t budged on over the years. They spend so much time together that Richie had hoped it’d happen by accident, eventually, but no such luck.  Richie’s jerked off in front of Eddie plenty of times-- _ with pleasure _ \--and Eddie’s definitely enjoyed the show, but something just won’t let him do it in front of Richie.  On Richie’s twenty-fifth birthday, Richie’d actually gotten kind of upset about it, and Eddie’d felt the need to apologize, repeatedly.   _ It probably has something to do with my mother _ , Eddie’s said, twisting his hands together in his lap with a sweet little shrug.   _ Everything does.  _

So imagine Richie’s surprise when he comes home a few hours early from an out of town gig to find his beautiful boyfriend spread out on top of their duvet, eyes closed, one hand wrapped around his dick and the other up by his face, mouthing at two of his fingers.  

“ _ Holy fucking shit _ ,” Richie breathes, standing in the hall peering through the half-open doorway of their bedroom.  Eds doesn’t hear him; for some reason, he’s got headphones on. Interesting. And  _ God _ , he couldn’t possibly look more perfect, white boxer briefs pushed down to just above his knees, feet squirming on top of the mattress, the head of his cock slick and his thumb making it slicker on the upstroke.  He’s definitely close--Richie knows the signs by now--eyes closed, brow pinched, cheeks flushed, shoulders tense, letting out those quiet little hums on almost every exhale.

When Eddie starts to come, it sounds a little different than it does when Richie makes him do it.  He licks his lips, those hums becoming more drawn out, the hand not stroking himself drifting across his chest and leaving a shiny little path.  

Very interesting.  

Richie sees his cock go thick with it just before it happens, back arching off the mattress just a little, eyes shut throughout the whole thing, come pulsing in two elegant stripes, the longer of which extends all the way up to his chest, just missing his other hand.  Richie presses the heel of his hand to the front of his jeans, hard. 

Eddie, fastidious as ever, has a washcloth ready on the bedside table, which he uses to wipe himself clean, chest still heaving, eyes still closed, tawny skin shimmering a little in the low light of the table lamp. 

Richie enters quickly, practically throwing himself on top of his boyfriend, who freaks the fuck out appropriately.  

“ _ OhmyGod what the fuck-- _ ” Eddie starts, moving to cover himself up, but Richie is quick to grab his hands, holding them against the pillow above his head.  

“No, no, no, no, no, don’t,  _ please _ .”  Richie presses a kiss to Eddie’s unresponsive mouth, taking in how hard he’s blushing.  “ _ God _ , Eds, you are fucking  _ stunning.   _ Every single thing about you… you have no idea.”

Eddie breathes hard, avoiding his eyes, the start of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.  Richie kisses him softly, bringing his gaze back to him. “I thought you weren’t--”

“I got home early, baby.  I’ve never been so glad to get home early in my life, I’ll tell you that much.”  Eddie whines a little, still embarrassed. “What were you thinking about?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Eddie says quietly as Richie noses along his neck.  

“Why?  Does it involve me?”  Richie shimmies his shoulders.  

“ _ Richie _ …”

“What if I tell you mine first?” he offers.  “One of my go-to Eds spank bank fantasies.”

“You don’t have to--”

“I  _ want  _ to.”  Richie strokes his chin dramatically in thought.  “There’s the Professor Kaspbrak one, there’s the you as Han Solo, me as Princess Leia thing…”  Eddie smacks his bicep half-heartedly, softening. “But most of the time, it’s just this thing you do on a loop, this one little thing that drives me up a wall.”  Richie leans closer, whispering. “When I’m on top of you--fucking you--and you’re getting close… and your eyes go kind of glazed and your head tilts back, and you say, ‘... _ Baby. _ ’  Just that.  It fucking kills me.”

Eddie bites his bottom lip, his face hot.  “That’s…”

Richie presses a soft kiss to his chin.  “What?”

Eddie covers his face.  “My turn now?” he asks into the palms of his hands. 

“You don’t have to.”

Eddie’s hands slip off and flop down onto the mattress at his sides.  “No, I want to.”

Richie wiggles his body in preparation, eager to consume whatever’s about to come out of Eddie’s mouth.

“It’s embarrassing,” Eddie starts.  “It’s nothing crazy or anything.”

“Neither was mine,” Richie says, encouraging.  “I mean, I chose one of the more mundane selections in my endless Eddie Kaspbrak repertoire.  But it is my favorite for a reason.”

Eddie smiles wide, groaning a little before he finally reveals his own.  “Mine is just… when you go down on me.”

“ _ O-oh _ .”

“Shut up.”  Eddie hits him again.  “You know I like your lips,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” Richie says, poking him in the chest.  “You  _ love _ my lips.”

“...And I like pulling your hair.  I think about that a lot.”

Richie blows a big breath out of his mouth.  “Damn, Eds,” he purrs, “why’d you have to shoot your load?  I coulda given you that pleasure right now. In the flesh.”

Eddie pinches his side with a snicker.  “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it,” Richie shoots back, then raises his eyebrows at Eddie’s naked torso.  “Clearly.”


	8. Humid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> creamy-brown-eyes prompted: Richie has to stay over at Eddie's apartment/house (your choice for the reason), and they're not dating but obvi into each other

Sleepovers feel different in college.  This is all Eddie can think as he watches Richie shuffle out of the bathroom and over to his duffle bag, sitting unzipped by the foot of Eddie’s bed, toothbrush protruding from his mouth.  He fishes out a tiny bottle of mouthwash, glances up at Eddie, and winks just before he starts moving the brush in and out of the inside of his cheek again, turning playfully on his heel and disappearing through the open bathroom door.

Eddie can remember so clearly how this felt in Derry, especially when they were at his house.  Richie’s pre-bed routine was starkly different then: no headband, no toothbrush, and certainly no mouthwash.  He’d rarely even bring pajamas or a change of clothes; he’d just slip his jeans off of his long legs and land face-first on Eddie’s bed, arms around the pillow with a simple, “‘Night, Eds.”  

The spectre of Eddie’s mother was ever-present, too.  Even though she never had much interest in interacting with Richie over the years, she seemed to always be observing the two of them, as if waiting for something.  All indulging had to be in secret, the two of them grabbing an armful of junk food from the cabinets and retreating to Eddie’s bedroom to read comics, watch movies on low, and giggle quietly at Richie’s dirty jokes.

They’ve only been in college one year, but Eddie feels like he’s aged about five since leaving Derry.  He’s decided to stay in New York for the summer, and Richie’s taken it upon himself to spend his one week off between finals and his summer internship in LA crashing at Eddie’s off-campus student apartment.  He can’t help but reflect on how adult their day has felt: picking Richie up from LaGuardia and steering him through the streets from the subway to his place, the two of them grabbing a late lunch at his favorite diner in Soho, then walking around Washington Square Park and shooting the shit about nothing and everything.  Having Richie by his side as he’d slipped the key into his front door had been incredible.  They’re turning in early, not because Eddie’s mother’s downstairs but because Richie’s exhausted from the cross-country flight and wants to rest up before they “hit up all the strip clubs in midtown” tomorrow (get brunch and maybe go see some comedy shows).  Eddie’s been relishing the feeling of freedom every step of the way.

It’s only June but it’s fucking hot already.  Richie laments, “Ugh, fuck you, humidity, I did not miss you” as he tears his t-shirt over his head and collapses onto Eddie’s bed with his face in a pillow.  (Eddie supposes some things haven’t changed after all.)  Eddie doesn’t have air conditioning, unfortunately, so sets his fan as close to their faces as possible and sleeps in a tank and shorts.

By the middle of the night, they’ve both kicked the sheets off, and Eddie’s allowed his tanktop to ride way, way up on his stomach.  Richie’s still snoring into the pillow, but he can’t sleep, instead staring at the ceiling and enjoying the quiet purr of Richie’s breath and the warmth of his body next to him.

Eddie turns toward the fan, closing his eyes against the cool breeze on his face, too hot to even flinch when Richie’s hand lands on his hip.  It’s purely an accident, he realizes, as he looks down at it, pale knuckles curled loosely against his tawny skin, just visible with the moonlight peeking through the slits in his blinds.  He breathes deeply, his heart giving a little lurch.  He’d move Richie’s hand, only he doesn’t want to.  

His attraction to Richie over the years has been a fleeting thing, pixelating in and out of his brain like a video game hero dying and then being granted another life.  He’d learned how to keep it in a neat little box too well, just like his sexuality, and by the time he’d been comfortable enough with himself to come out, at least to the Losers, it had been buried so deep that it was a closed chapter, as far as he was concerned.  

Besides, it’s never even crossed Eddie’s mind that anything might actually happen, despite Richie being “an equal opportunist” (his words, junior year).  But now that Richie’s hand is twitching against his bare skin, it’s all he can think about.  The beast in that little box snarls, and Eddie’s breath goes shallow.  He wants to tell it to shut the fuck up, thanks, but Richie’s barely touching him and it already feels too fucking good.  

Eddie’s feet squirm slowly against the sheets, half in an attempt to gracefully separate them and half trying to maybe “accidentally” nudge Richie’s hand just a little lower,  _please_.  No dice, either way; Richie’s hand stays right where it is, his face peaceful in sleep, lips full, pink, and inviting.  Eddie turns away, back at the fan, eyes closed.

Richie’s snoring comes to an abrupt stop with an adorable little snuffle.  Eddie feigns sleep as he feels a bit of life make its way back into Richie’s hand, the one against his skin.  Then there’s total, unbearable silence for about eight seconds–Eddie counts it–before Richie murmurs, “Eds?”  His voice is all thick, and when Eddie turns to look at him, his eyelids are all heavy.  He might be half-asleep.

“Hm?”

Richie’s raised himself onto one elbow, his hair utterly crazy and his face soft.  “Can I kiss you?”

Eddie says nothing, his heart lurching again, simply scooting his body silently underneath Richie’s and zeroing in on his mouth.  Richie, in his sleepy state, doesn’t hesitate for half a second, ducking his head and gently capturing Eddie’s lips.

They start slow and wet, learning each other’s mouths, shrill alarm bells going off somewhere in the recesses of Eddie’s brain where they can no longer be accessed, until Richie dares to curl his tongue inside Eddie’s mouth, dipping his head lower to deepen the kiss–and Eddie just loses it, whimpering into his mouth, letting his legs fall open, and pulling Richie down on top of him, flush.  

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie manages to get out before Eddie tangles their legs and starts gnawing on his bottom lip.

They’re already moving together, Eddie made bold by the nighttime, feeling strangely protected by it in a way he never has, one hand buried in Richie’s hair and the other sliding down his spine to grip his ass, encouraging him to grind against him.  Richie nudges Eddie’s face to the side, turning it toward the artificial breeze again, and starts sucking on the meat of one of his shoulders, hand deftly coming up to slip the material of his tank off of his skin for more access.  Richie’s other hand is making its way under the hem of the tank on the other side, impossibly big as it caresses Eddie’s ribs, then slipping down to palm at his thigh, hitching it up higher on his hip and gripping it for purchase as he starts circling his hips down hard.  Eddie opens his mouth around a gasp.

It’s dirty and escalating fast, Eddie starting to pant, and Richie breathing heavily into the crook of his neck, making him damp everywhere.  “ _Shit._   Eds, you are so goddamn beautiful.”

“So are you,” Eddie whispers fiercely, heat curling low in his stomach at Richie’s answering growl.   _Fuck me_ , he wants to say but bites it back for some reason.  Richie can feel the sentiment coming off of his body in waves, though, through his pores, and starts rocking him into the mattress so hard it creaks.  

Both his hands are on Richie’s ass now, the thin material separating the two of them warm and wet and getting wetter.  Richie kisses him hard and teases, “You gonna come?,” and that’s all it takes for it to happen, Eddie gripping him all the way through it, his body quickly going slack but his mouth nipping at Richie’s neck and urging him on.  Richie shoots messily between them, a feeling so intense and sexy that Eddie swears he could come again if he weren’t so goddamn hot and tired.  They breathe heavily, Richie collapsed on him fully, totally uncomfortable.  But Eddie doesn’t want to break the spell.  There’s still a sliver of him that anticipates disaster, though he has a feeling–a good feeling he doesn’t have to in this case.  

Richie’s face turns, his lips pursing a soft kiss just under Eddie’s ear.  Eddie can feel him smiling, so he smiles, too.


	9. First Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bitchin-eds prompted: So I would love to see a fight between them (maybe over the jealousy or over Richie being gone for shoots) and the make-up sex!!
> 
> Set in the [Zero Characters Left](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373053/chapters/28144986) universe, after Richie and Eddie have gotten together and are living together.

Considering how fucking anxious Eddie was about living with someone for the first time, it’s surprising that his and Richie’s first real fight doesn’t happen until a few months in.   **  
**

It’s the dead of winter–February–so Eddie’s already kind of moody.  Winters are interminable in Boston.  January’s always sort of bearable, with the still lingering magic of the holiday season, but once February rolls around, Eddie could not be more over trudging through slush and freezing his fingers off every time he has to run around the corner from the office to get coffee.

He’s finally home for the night, and he’s almost done defrosting, his hair still slightly damp from the flakes falling half-heartedly outside.  And despite the fact that the sky’s been dark since fucking five o’clock, he’s actually in a good mood.  He and Richie have plans to go out for a really nice dinner, something they haven’t done since before the holidays and something they both desperately need at the moment.

Eddie’s stretched thin, well, because he pretty much always is since his promotion, and Richie hasn’t had a day off in weeks, between teaching and all the great freelance work he’s been getting in New York.  They’d both collapsed in front of the TV over the weekend with heavy sighs, Richie lamenting that he hadn’t stuck to his plan to just hibernate for the winter and let his sugar daddy (Eddie) take care of him.  They’d briefly batted around the idea of taking a weekend trip somewhere, quickly realizing that it just wasn’t in the cards until at least April.

Then Richie’s eyes had lit up.  “My first AC just shot a commercial for this fancy new steakhouse in North Cambridge.  She said the food was incredible.  And they have a wide selection of brown liquors,” Richie’d said, pushing his glasses up his nose and doing his best Robin Leach impression.  Eddie’d easily agreed.  He fucking loves steak.

So here he is, standing idly in their kitchen, trying to decide what to wear while pointedly not eating everything in their fridge.  He’s ravenous and he really wants to, but he doesn’t want to spoil it.  He glances at his watch.  Six-fifteen.  It  _is_ a little strange that Richie isn’t home yet; the whole reason they’d been able to make these plans is that he’d anticipated an unusually early wrap time today.  Their reservation is for eight o’clock.  

Eddie glances at his phone.  Nothing.  Maybe Richie’d run out to pick up dessert or wine or something.  He does always like surprising him in little ways–though, again, he hasn’t really had the bandwidth for that lately.  

Or maybe the shoot is running late.  It’s happened at least ten times in the last two months.  But Richie’s always good about letting Eddie know.

Eddie shoots a text off to Richie:  _I’m home.  What’s your ETA?_  Then he adds a steak emoji.  (Richie really is rubbing off on him.)

Nothing.  Granted, Richie’s version of work is way different than Eddie’s, and he usually can’t just drop everything to reply to a text.

Eddie assumes the best and shuffles into their bedroom to slip out of his cold, damp clothes and into something a little nicer.  He fastens his t-chain bracelet around his wrist.  

“Fuck, I’m so hungry,” he says, walking briskly back into the kitchen, pulling a bag of pretzels from the cabinet, and shoving a few in his mouth.  

Finally–at six forty-five–Richie responds to his text.   _Baby, I’m so sorry, we’re running late again.  Probably need to raincheck tonight._   Then a streaming tears emoji.

Eddie slams the phone down on the kitchen counter.  “Fucking seriously, Rich?”  The text is not nearly enough, considering how much they’ve both been looking forward to this and how much coordination it took.  He doesn’t respond, instead picking up the phone to call the steakhouse and cancel their reservation in a tight voice.  

When Richie finally comes through the door at nine-thirty, it’s quietly.  Eddie’s sitting at the kitchen table in sweats, catching up on the work he’d neglected by leaving on time to make their dinner date.  They don’t greet each other.  Eddie hears him drop all his equipment by the door.

Eddie spares him a cold glance as he enters the kitchen looking drained.  He sees Richie approach out of the corner of his eye, and feels his fingers push through his hair.  The small bit of affection is so needed right now, but he’s not ready for it.  He jerks his head away.  Richie sighs.  

“Eds–” he starts.

Eddie pushes away from the table, grabbing his keys off the hook by the front door.  “I’m going for a run.”

“At fucking ten o’clock at night?”

“Yup.”  Eddie’s voice is flat as he slips on his sneakers.  

Richie steps in front of the door, blocking his path.  “It’s, like, ten degrees out and super icy.  I was just out there.”

“More like twenty.”  Eddie reaches around Richie’s side for the doorknob.

Richie grabs his forearm gently.  “Hey.  You’re being kind of a shithead right now.  I’d like to know why before you go out this late and inevitably get yourself murdered.”

“I can take care of myself,” Eddie snaps, feeling like he’s all of sixteen.  “You’re being really dramatic.”

“ _I’m being dramatic?_ ”  Richie swipes his hands over his face.  “Eds, I’m fucking exhausted.  I spent the last fourteen hours shooting exteriors  _in fucking Boston in February_ , and all I wanted was to come home at the end of this brutal fucking day, and snuggle with you on the couch.”  

“And I wanted to go out to dinner with you for the first time in over a month, but apparently that was too much to fucking ask.”

Richie lets out a little growl.  “ _Eddie._ ”  It’s a tone he’s never taken with him before, and it takes him by surprise.  “I told you my job is unpredictable.  You’ve been on set with me; you know that.  You knew what you were getting into.”  He suddenly looks worried.  “Is it getting to be too much?  Should I have stayed at my old job?”

Eddie blanches.  He’s shocked Richie would even ask.  “No, that’s not what I’m saying…”

“Then what am I missing here?  I texted you to let you know I was going to be late.  Why are you being like this?”

“You texted me at fucking six forty-five!  I’m sure you knew how your day was going to go earlier, and if you’d just fucking told me, I could have planned  _my_  day better.  Shit’s crazy at work; I really could have used the extra time.”

Richie’s eyes flash.  “You can do your work from  _anywhere_.  It’s not the same fucking thing, at all.  If I am not physically there on set with a camera in my hand, I’m not getting paid.”

“I  _know_ that.”  Eddie pushes past him into the living room.  “But you’re acting like tonight was just like any other night, when it wasn’t.  It was a big deal–to me, anyway.  I really needed tonight.  Work has fucking sucked lately, and just knowing we were going out tonight basically got me through the last two weeks.”

Richie’s eyes fill with sympathy.  “I’m sorry.”

Eddie’s hands twist in the bottom of his henley.  “Sometimes I think you care about your work more than you care about me.”

“What?”  Richie actually laughs a little.

“I know I’m not as artistic or interesting or fun as the people you work with…”

Richie laughs again.  “ _What?_   What the fuck are you talking about?”  He sounds fond again, more like the Richie Eddie’s used to.  He braces his hands on either side of Eddie’s face.  Eddie allows it, albeit begrudgingly.  “You are the most important person in the world to me.  You couldn’t bore me if you tried.  If I never talked to any of the people I worked with today ever again, I would be totally fine with that.”  

Eddie watches him silently.  He suddenly feels small and young and horribly vulnerable.  “Not even Derek, the really hot AD?”

“Uh,” Richie smirks, his hands drifting down to Eddie’s neck, caressing there–still tentative, in case he pushes a button again.  “I have negative interest in Derek the ‘really hot’ AD.  He’s not my type, at all.  In fact, you’re the one who gave him that nickname.  So maybe I should be the jealous one,” he says, his voice shifting again into an even softer purr.

Eddie leans his forehead against Richie’s clavicle.  “I’m not jealous.”

He hears Richie smile.  “No?  Well, good.  You have no reason to be.”  Richie presses a gentle but pointed kiss to his hairline.  “In case you missed it, I’m pretty obsessed with you.”

Richie’s hands slip down to his shoulders, rubbing there, encouraging Eddie to lean further into him, which he does.  His body is still thrumming with leftover frustration.  

Richie’s mouth moves against his temple as he speaks.  “I would take hanging out with you over shooting something any day of the week.  If you asked me to work less, I’d do it in a heartbeat–but the last thing I want is for you to feel like I’m financially dependent on you.  All sugar daddy jokes aside.”

“…I don’t want you to give up doing what you love,” Eddie admits, as tempting as it is to ask Richie to just be at home all the time so he can see his face every morning when he leaves for the office and every night when he comes home.  He finally lifts his hands from his sides, slipping them under Richie’s shirt and feeling how cold his skin still is from outside.  He can feel his muscles relax under his touch.  

Richie brings a knuckle under his chin to tip his face up for a kiss.  “I’m sad that we couldn’t go to dinner, too.”  He nuzzles at Eddie’s nose, then kisses him again, clearly starved for affection after not being allowed it for the last several minutes.  “I’m sorry, love.”  It’s a pet name Richie rarely uses, and it never ceases to make Eddie shiver at how intimate it sounds coming out of his mouth.  “How can I make it up to you?”

Eddie’s gaze shifts from Richie’s deep, dark eyes to his full, gorgeous mouth and back again.  Instead of answering, he says, “I put on those grey pants that you really like.”

Said eyes roll back a little in Richie’s head.  “The ones that are all clingy?  Oh God–please put them back on.”

Eddie fixes him with a playfully steely gaze, baring his blunt nails to rake over the planes of his stomach under his t-shirt.  “No.  I’m still mad at you,” he murmurs, their mouths still hovering close.  “I had to eat leftover pizza from the fucking freezer.”

“Oh, you  _had_  to,” Richie teases.  “You had no other possible choice than to eat sad freezer pizza in your nice-n-sexy pants.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, then scrapes his teeth over Richie’s bottom lip.  

Richie’s hand lingers under Eddie’s chin, long fingers spread lightly along his throat, his palm huge.  His thumb presses in gently just above Eddie’s adam’s apple.  “Tell me: how can I make it up to you?”

Hearing Richie’s voice pitched so low, his eyes so intense, has a fire simmering low in Eddie’s stomach.  Their first time together had truly set the tone for that part of their relationship; sex with Richie is by turns sweet and savory, fun and ridiculous, and rushed and needy.  Always fantastic.  But never serious.

“I’ll do anything you want,” Richie says.

It’s something Richie says often, but again, the stakes feel higher than usual.  Eddie thinks it over quietly–or tries to, because in the meantime, Richie’s captured one of his hands from under his shirt and started pressing open-mouthed kisses to his palm, the heel, his wrist.  Eddie traces his thumb–the one still resting on Richie’s naked stomach–down the trail of hair leading under the waistband of Richie’s underwear, and feels Richie exhale heavily through his nostrils as it gusts warmly over his fingertips.  Richie slips his middle finger into his warm, wet mouth onto the bed of his tongue, which starts to just curl around the web where it meets Eddie’s pointer finger.  

Eddie imagines Richie’s waistband as his thumb runs over its rough elasticity, the way it always sticks out proudly from beneath the waistband of his jeans, jeans that hang low on his sinewy hips.  He thinks of Richie’s crew being able to see it when he reaches up to adjust a light or crouches down to get a shot, the way Eddie used to when they worked together.  He slips his finger from Richie’s mouth and lets it drag all the way down to the hollow of his throat, leaving a damp trail down the center of his neck.  

He scrapes his teeth over the sharp corner of Richie’s jaw.  “I want you to show me I’m still yours–and you’re still mine.”  Richie nods faintly, his eyes impossibly dark and his eyelids heavy.  Eddie braces his chin between his fingers and brings him down to suck on his lower lip.  Richie moans, his fingers tightening around Eddie’s throat just so as he shuffles him in the direction of the couch, until the backs of his knees hit the edge and he’s tumbling backward and sitting with his legs splayed, Richie towering over him.  

Richie tears his t-shirt over his head, the scent of him slightly stronger now–he must’ve been working really hard today–and starts working at his belt buckle, the same belt that featured in most if not all of Eddie’s earliest fantasies about him, long before they even kissed for the first time.  Eddie scoots to the edge of the couch and tosses Richie’s hands away from it, looking up at him as he tastes the cold metal with his tongue.  Richie’s nostrils flare, his breath coming quicker as Eddie works the belt off, tears his fly open, and yanks his jeans down to his knees.  He presses his open mouth to the front of Richie’s grey boxer briefs and inhales, feeling Richie’s hands settle in the hair at the sides of his head.  “ _Shit, Eds_ ,” he hears faintly above him.  

There’s no delicate way of putting it: Eddie  _loves_  Richie’s dick.  He lives for riding it, stroking it, sucking it.  And while he’s had good partners before, he’s never felt half the desire for any of them as he does for Richie.  Looking back, he has no idea how he held off on making a move for so long.  Maybe he was afraid of how good he knew it would be.  

He eases Richie’s underwear down, giving his cock plenty of space to free itself, curling up toward his navel, red, perfectly hard, and gorgeous.  He immediately grabs hold of the base, glancing up at Richie as he tongues at the spongy head, smirking as he sees Richie clench his eyes and whisper, “ _Fuck_.”  His stomach trembles when Eddie sinks all the way down–Eddie can feel it where his thumbs are splayed over his hips.  Richie’s fingers tighten around the slippery strands of Eddie’s hair, his breath all stuttery as Eddie swallows him down over and over.  

Eddie can’t go down any further, but he’s so hungry for it, he wishes he could.  He lets his mouth slip off on the upstroke, watching with wide eyes as Richie’s cock slaps his stomach wetly, and starts sucking kisses along the underside.  

Richie gently pulls his face away, his body bowing a little, and simply pleads, “Not yet,” before curling his tongue into Eddie’s mouth.  “Turn around.”

Eddie gives him one more biting kiss before he obeys, standing, turning, and getting back on the couch on his knees, his back to Richie.  He feels Richie’s big hands slip underneath his shirt as he buries his face in Eddie’s neck.  His lips fasten to his skin and he starts sucking there, slow and hard, and Eddie throws his head back against Richie’s shoulder with a little whine.  He can feel Richie’s dick nudging against his ass through the thin layer of his sweatpants, the bruise quickly forming at his neck, and he can’t help but grind back into him, his hands braced on the back of the couch.  

When the bruise has fully blossomed, Richie finally pulls away, giving his work one last look and a soft lick.  Richie rucks Eddie’s shirt up over his stomach and his chest, urging him to lift his arms so he can pull it over his head and toss it across the living room.  His fingers glance over Eddie’s shoulders before he lowers his mouth again, this time to the back of Eddie’s neck, and starts sucking there, even harder than the first time.  Eddie gasps, his chin tipping down to his chest, Richie’s arms tight around him.  He hadn’t been expecting another.  He could hide both with a scarf or under sweaters, easily, but the idea of not doing that when he goes into work tomorrow thrills him, mainly because everyone will know exactly who did it.  

They’re so close, Richie draped over his back, his mouth fastened to his nape, one hand splayed across his stomach and the other wrapped over his shoulder from the front.  Eddie releases his hold on the back of the couch, thoroughly impatient now, and tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats, trying to push them down, managing just a few inches.  He feels Richie’s smile curl against the back of his neck.  “Somebody’s impatient,” he murmurs, teeth going over the fresh bruise, the singsong in his voice nearly breaking the spell.

But then Eddie turns and nudges his nose against Richie’s face.  “Honey, I want you  _now_.”

Richie’s breath explodes from his mouth.  He grabs Eddie’s face and presses a fierce kiss to his cheek.  “Don’t move.   _Don’tmovedon’tmovedon’tmove_ ,” he chants, then shuffles quickly out of the room, leaving Eddie cold and desperate to touch himself to take the edge off.  He doesn’t though; he barely has time to shove his sweatpants the rest of the way down to his thighs before he hears Richie shuffling back into the room accompanied by the snick of the cap of lube opening.  Richie’s feet stop.  Eddie bites back a smile.  He can only imagine what he looks like right now, all marked up, ass in the air.

Richie shoves the sweatpants down as far as they’ll go, until they’re caught around Eddie’s knees where they’re still splayed on the couch cushions, and nudges Eddie’s thighs further apart.  He jumps a little at the feeling of two of Richie’s wet fingertips stroking over his hole, teasing for a long moment before one slips mercifully inside.  

“ _Yes_.”  Eddie’s back arches, and he immediately starts rocking himself back onto Richie’s hand.  He can feel Richie taking him in with his eyes, his free hand splayed over his stomach, keeping him steady.  

Richie kisses him just in front of his ear.  “Do you have any idea how fucking good you look right now?”  Before Eddie can plead for more, he slips his middle finger in to join the first, twisting and curling, though Eddie’s setting the pace and doing the searching, using the grind of his hips to find that spot.  “Shhh.”  Richie caresses his stomach with his thumb.

Eddie feels stubborn as hell, his body rigid and on edge, Richie three fingers deep and not nearly enough.  He’s riding his hand hard, the heel of his hand slapping against his skin.  He eyes Richie’s dick where it’s pressing hard and upright against the side of his thigh, the shaft still slightly damp from his own saliva and the head leaking, and licks his lips.  

Richie notices, gently slipping his fingers from his body.  He hands him the bottle of lube without a word, and starts running his tongue along the side of his neck, where that first hickey is, and up to the shell of his ear.  Eddie wastes no time squeezing the liquid into both of his hands and gripping Richie two-handed, stroking him nice and hard.  He hears Richie’s broken inhale next to his ear.  “Jesus fuck,” he manages, Eddie awkwardly scrambling fully out of his sweatpants, nudging them the rest of the way down to the floor with his toes and kicking them across the floor, looking like the world’s horniest multitasker.  

Richie wraps a hand around the back of his neck and reels him in for a series of biting kisses as Eddie continues to stroke him, eventually nudging his hands away with another shiver.  “Stomach?” he says, and Eddie practically dives onto the couch face down, bending his knees and spreading them like a frog, arms over his head so his hands can wrap around the arm of the couch.  He keens at the feeling of Richie’s hands on him, opening him up, one long thumb glancing over his hole and just slipping inside.  Eddie wriggles, the pressure on his cock fantastic but still dying for Richie to fill him up.  

Both of Richie’s hands leave him, one bracing on his back and the other clearly wrapped around his own dick as he nudges the head snugly against Eddie’s hole.  Eddie exhales a deep, satisfied moan, as he feels the stretch of it pushing inside of him.  Then Richie’s hands are back on either side of his ass, pulling him back so his cock disappears almost all the way inside, Eddie pushing back onto him the rest of the way and pulsing his hips, letting Richie know he’s past fucking ready.  Richie thankfully gets the message, getting right into a quick, shallow rhythm that has most of him staying inside Eddie the whole time, his hips snapping against Eddie’s plush cheeks.  Eddie’s brow goes pinched even as he lets out a drawn out, contented hum.  

Richie doesn’t let him get too comfortable, though, fucking into him and staying still so he can drape himself over his back and get his whole body into it, wrapping one arm around Eddie’s shoulder from underneath, gripping his thigh with the other, and going so fast that Eddie totally loses control of his mouth.  “ _Oh God, Richie, so good_ ,” he gasps.

“Are you mine?” Richie rasps into his ear, and Eddie chokes out a moan in response.  “C’mere,” he says, pulling Eddie up until he’s back where he started, kneeling with his arms braced on the back of the couch.  He feels Richie get to his feet behind him, wrap one hand around his hip, and line himself up, wrapping his arms tightly around Eddie as he pushes in and up, the angle deep and brutal.  Eddie trembles full-body in his arms, fingers gripping the upholstery hard as Richie’s cock finds his spot.  Richie holds him tighter and starts hitting it with precision, and Eddie’s throat burns with the noise that comes out of his mouth.  One of Richie’s hands slips down to curl around his cock, stroking to the rhythm of his own hips and doubling the delicious burn in the pit of Eddie’s stomach.

If he weren’t so far gone, Eddie might protest the fact that he’s seconds away from painting the back of the couch with his own come, but there’s no fucking way he’s stopping this now, not when he can feel Richie so, so close and trying so hard to hold back, his face buried in Eddie’s neck and his teeth biting his bottom lip to shit.  Eddie starts panting–a sound Richie claims he’ll never, ever get tired of–and finally starts to shoot, some of it ending up on his own chest and the rest, unfortunately, on the back of the couch.   _Occupational hazard_ , he thinks–one of Richie’s catch phrases.

Richie’s shoulders relax now that the pressure to keep performing is off, his strokes going quick and shallow again as he lets himself come, filling Eddie up, the sensation strange and totally overstimulating, as always.  Eddie’s still panting as Richie collapses over his shoulders.  He turns, grips him by the hair, and kisses him hard.  “Yours,” Eddie whispers, smiling.  Richie looks at him, smiling back.


	10. Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: 65. “Did you do something different with your hair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: use of the f slur; mildly internalized homophobia

Affection has always made Eddie a little paranoid, whether it’s giving or receiving.  When it comes to receiving, that’s a no-brainer; the hugs from his mom that he grew up on leaned more smothering control than actual affection.  And as for giving, he’s always been just fucking awkward about it. He’d wanted to with his guy friends, with Bill and Stan, all the time, ever since they were really little, but he’d wanted to avoid getting pushed on the playground--or worse, punched--even more.  It was a silent understanding between the three of them, and most of the other boys, from kindergarten through junior high: Keep your hands to yourself or you’re a fag, which basically means you’re dead.

With girls, well, he didn’t want them to think he  _ wasn’t _ a fag.  Didn’t want them to think he might be interested. 

When Richie worms his way into their group, around fifth grade, he breaks every fucking rule in that imaginary book.  He’s all inappropriate jokes and warm hands and hugs and claps on the back and fingers through Eddie’s hair and on the small of his back, and for a long time, Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to do with it.  He bristles predictably, shrieking, “Don’t fucking do that!” and “Let go of me, dick!” and “Get your grubby hands  _ off _ !”  And Richie either sees right through it, knows Eddie’s secretly screaming for these bits of affection, or he  _ enjoys  _ freaking him out, always pulling away after far too many protests with a soft smile and a wink, sometimes a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek, which Eddie spends a solid minute wiping off, complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.

They’re both good at performing.

After the sewers, though, something breaks.  Eddie stops caring so much, starts clinging way more, every opportunity he gets.  And it’s not just because Mike sent Bowers screaming down a fucking well; he suspects it’s more because he stared death right in the face and told it to go fuck itself, right along with his smothering mother.  It starts with that hug with Richie in the field and only builds from there: movie nights on Mike’s farm curling up on the sofa and laying his head in Richie’s lap, piggybacks from Ben, hugs hello and goodbye, hugs for no reason at all.  

It’s really, really nice.

One movie night sophomore year, Richie makes sure to dive onto the sofa first, curling his long body up in a ball and whining, “ _ E-eds _ ” while he pats what little space there is left beside him.  When Eddie plops down, Richie burrows his head into his thigh and actually places one of Eddie’s hands in his hair.  Eddie chuckles and obediently starts petting just as Ben queues up  _ Drop Dead Fred. _

Petting Richie’s hair instead of the other way around is… different.  Still really, really good. Just different. Eddie finds his interest in the movie severely lacking, his gaze drifting down to Richie’s profile, watching the light from the screen play across the lenses of his glasses and his long, slopey nose.  When he sinks his fingers down to Richie’s roots, Richie’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. Eddie can see him struggling to keep his eyes open and his attention on the screen. Richie curls further into his ball, pointedly concealing his crotch, and instead of being grossed out, Eddie is fucking  _ thrilled _ by it.  

He isn’t even sure what he’s doing--he’s never so much as kissed anybody--but his fingers start moving in deep, slow circles through Richie’s curls, over his scalp.  Richie’s hair is so soft.  _ Fuck.   _ After about ten minutes, Richie grabs a pillow and clutches it to his middle, his pale cheeks going flushed.  Eddie would laugh out loud if it weren’t so endearing. He shows some mercy, slowing his hand to a stop and just resting it above Richie’s ear.  

Richie turns over halfway, his hands pawing restlessly at the pillow in his lap.  “Why’d you stop?” he whispers. Eddie’s never seen him look so serious in his life.  

The next movie night is just a week later, and he finds Richie looking weirdly serious again, sitting ramrod straight on the sofa while the others argue over  _ The Addams Family  _ or  _ What About Bob? _  His hair looks weird. 

Eddie sits gingerly down next to him and stares.  Richie gives him a tight smile. “Did you do something different with your hair?  It’s all… fluffy.”

Richie goes cherry red.  “Um.” He pushes a hand through it.  “I tried blow drying it.”

A part of him wants to tease the fuck out of Richie for it, make fun of how it looks, but a bigger part of him, this newer part that not only welcomes but initiates hugs, wants to show him the same mercy he did last weekend.  He smiles, going for some version of flirtatious. “It looks cute.”

Richie’s eyes go wide behind his glasses.  He rights where they sit on his nose. “Thanks.”

Eddie reaches out and tugs on the sleeve of Richie’s sweater, patting his lap with his other hand, and Richie goes willingly.


	11. Six Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: 57. “Is that my shirt?” & 48\. “I’ve liked you for awhile now.”

It’s been the most boring fucking summer of Richie’s life.  For the fourth year in a row, his mom had shipped him off to his aunt’s in Bumfuck, Vermont to spend it with his cousins.  (Not that Derry wasn’t already Bumfuck, but on the scale of Bumfucks, Derry was actually way lower than his cousins’ place.)

_ But you love going to Vermont _ , his mom had said, totally perplexed at his highly dramatic protests over July 4th weekend.

_ I know, I do, but-- _ he’d started, the rest of the sentence dying on the back of his tongue.  ( _ I know, I do, but Eds and I have been spending all this time together, and for the first time, it feels  _ different _.  Special.  Like this is the worst possible fucking time for me to leave. _ )

It had felt like a six-week sentence, even in spite of all the trips to the water park and fishing and jumping off the tire swing at the lake and to the drive-in and ice cream and all the other shit Richie’d loved for three summers prior to this one.  Six weeks without Eddie’s ridiculous cackle, without him smacking Richie on the arm at least twice a day for one remark or another, without his big, expressive, fiery brown eyes flashing while he tells a story about school or his mom or whatever the fuck, Richie doesn’t care, as long as Eds is telling it.

Over Fourth of July, Richie’d almost kissed him-- _ actually kissed him _ \--that’s how fizzy things had been between them lately, and he was terrified of losing that momentum.  The night before he’d left for Bumfuck, or Upper Bumfuck, he’d talked to Eddie on the phone about nothing and everything for four hours in hushed tones, Eddie stopping every time the floor in his house creaked to make sure his mom didn’t hear them talking after midnight.  

At two-fifteen, Richie’s mom had knocked and edged his bedroom door open.  “ _ You’re still on the phone? _  Hang up  _ right now _ , go to sleep,” she’d hissed, alarmed. 

When she’d closed the door and Richie’d sighed, Eddie just said it, right in his ear: “Richie?  I’ve liked you for a while now.”

Richie’s spent six weeks repeating that wonderful admission in his head in Eds’ sweet little voice.  He’s also spent six weeks writing sappy fucking letters to Eddie almost every fucking day, suffering through the teasing of his younger cousins.  ( _ Oo-ooh, are you writing to your girl-frieeeend?,  _ followed by ridiculous kissing sounds.) 

He’s managed to sneak in a few phone calls to Eddie, late at night, after his cousins are fast asleep, curled up on the recliner in the den, speaking as softly as he possibly can.  His fear of losing momentum has come true, since he’d been too chickenshit to return Eddie’s crush confession in the moment, and he feels like it’s too late and too stupid to do it now, weeks later.  He vows to himself to do it in epically romantic fashion, in person, the second he sets foot back in Derry.

Richie smiles as he strolls breathlessly up to the side of Eddie’s house that night to find his bedroom window pushed wide open, just as Richie’d requested in his last letter.  He scales the tree just outside the window easily, stronger after all that physical activity in Bumfuck, and his heart nearly falls out of his mouth when he looks through the window and sees Eddie for the first time in six weeks.  He’s sitting up in bed with the lamp on, writing in his journal--and he’s wearing one of Richie’s old t-shirts that he must have left during a sleepover last year or the year before. Richie smiles wide. “Psst.”

Eddie looks up, slamming the journal shut, and scrambling off his bed, his own smile bright and wide and everything Richie’s been missing.  He raises the screen, preemptively shushing Richie as he helps him through the open space and catches him before he falls down on Eddie’s carpet in a heap of gangly limbs.  Richie stands tall and looks at him. 

“Hi,” Eddie says in a stage whisper, punctuated by some wind chimes outside.  He’s a bit taller, sun-kissed and freckly, and his hair has gotten kind of long and a little wavy, and Richie is even more fucking gone for him than he ever thought possible.

He has his confession ready, has been rehearsing it in his head for weeks now, but when he looks down at Eds, all that comes out is, “Is that my shirt?”

Eddie laughs a little and tugs at the hem with both hands.  “ _ Oh.   _ I don’t know,” he says, obviously lying, and it’s enough to make Richie skip the confession altogether and go straight to grabbing Eddie’s face and kissing him, soft and sure.  


	12. Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: 77. “Are you jealous?”
> 
> A PROMPT AFTER MY OWN HEART. I’m an absolute whore for jealousy. Also, there is not nearly enough club fic in this fandom, so HERE WE GO. Club fic. And it’s 1997. BYEEEEE.

“Whoa, Eddie, slow down,” Mike says as he lays a gentle hand on Eddie’s forearm.  

_ Nope _ , Eddie thinks fiercely as he knocks back another vodka shot.  (This is followed immediately by a disgusted squeal and a vigorous shake of his head.)  He’s getting good and drunk tonight. And it has absolutely  _ nothing _ to do with that guy Richie’s out on the dancefloor with.

A  _ guy.   _ Eddie’d seen Richie with plenty of girls before, flirting, making out, and, one horribly mortifying time at a party at Bev’s aunt’s house in high school, a bit more than that.  So it isn’t a big fucking deal--or it shouldn’t be, anyway. 

They’re all home on break from college, their junior year, and they’d decided to make a trip up to Portland together instead of staying in “our hometown and deepest shithole of all time, Derry, Maine” (Richie’s words).  Said trip, of course, has ended with them at a club, since most of them have already turned twenty-one that year--all except Ben, who’s gladly designated himself designated driver and has been pounding Diet Cokes all night. 

Bill and Stan are off making out somewhere, making up for lost time, Bev’s catching up with Ben at the bar, and Richie’s dancing with some fucking  _ guy _ Eddie’s never seen before.  None of them have. 

“Does he  _ know _ him?” Eddie asks Mike, already sounding like a shrieky little mess to his own ears.  

“He’s certainly acting like it,” Bev murmurs, watching as the guy buries one hand in Richie’s hair and whispers in his ear as they move together.  

Eddie watches briefly as Richie smiles at whatever the stupid fucking guy’s said and tightens his grip on his hips.  He tears his eyes away, about to ask for another shot, when Ben forcefully grabs his hand and pushes a tall glass of water into it.  “Drink,” he commands, clapping a large hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

Richie isn’t even a good dancer.  He sort of knows how to fake it, Eddie thinks, by holding suggestively onto whoever his partner is and letting them lead the way if they’re good enough, which they usually are.  

Eddie’s good.  But he’s never danced with Richie before.  Not like that, anyway. 

Then “Honey” by Mariah comes on.  And the vodka swirling around Eddie’s stomach decides that’s the perfect moment to hit his brain. 

He gulps down the water gratefully--he hadn’t even realized how much he’d needed it--along with half the ice, some of it cascading down the front of his shirt.  He laughs it off and grabs Mike’s hand. Mike, oblivious to the entire situation, or at least pretending to be, follows willingly, already dancing as they make their way out to the middle of the floor.  

They’ve danced with each other before, plenty of times, so they fall into an easy rhythm, and if Eddie’s a little more slithery, a little more hip-forward (or backward, as the case may be) than usual, then he’ll blame it on the alcohol and not Richie and that fucking guy dancing just a couple of yards away.  

They’re  _ good _ , too, he and Mike, he knows they are, so he isn’t surprised when the dancers surrounding them stop and start to stare.  Eddie’s way better than that other fucking guy, he thinks, pushing his hands through his hair, locking eyes with Mike, and playfully mouthing the words to the song.  About halfway through, he notices Richie standing nearby with a wide smile, looking impressed and incredibly entertained, and alone. His eyes are locked on Eddie’s body, and Eddie silently thanks the vodka again for giving him the courage to keep on going. 

When the song ends, he and Mike laugh and embrace each other, Mike shouting a sweet, “That was a blast!” in his ear.  

Eddie’s mildly disoriented as he feels two more arms wrap around him, this time from behind, and they’re familiar.  Mike locks eyes with the person over his shoulder and steps gracefully out of Eddie’s embrace. Eddie turns back just enough to see Richie behind him, all smiles, arms tight around his waist.  “...Hey.”

“There room for one more on your dance card, Eds?” Richie asks, mouth flush with his ear, and Eddie feels himself go hot from his face all the way down his chest.  

“Can you keep up?” Eddie teases, turning in Richie’s arms just as “One in a Million” by Aaliyah comes on.

Richie’s eyebrows shoot up.  “Looks like I got off the hook--it’s a slow one.”

“Kind of hard to dance to, actually,” Eddie says, feeling suddenly vulnerable and a little more sober than before as most of the other people on the dancefloor disappear in favor of more drinks or just taking a breather.  He drapes his arms loosely over Richie’s shoulders and pointedly avoids his eyes. They’re both sweaty and damp, and he can feel the heat between them, Richie’s hands big and warm at his waist, fingers spread wide enough to cover the small of his back.  “What happened to your friend?” Eddie asks, thoroughly incapable of keeping the bitterness out of his tone. He looks at Richie and catches him staring at his mouth.

Richie’s eyes jump back up to meet his own.  “Huh?”

“That guy you were dancing with.”

“Oh,” Richie says lightly with a shrug.  “We were just dancing.”

Eddie nods with an eyeroll.  “Uh huh.”

He feels Richie’s fingers move ever so slightly against his waist, igniting a fire low in his stomach.  “Are you jealous?”

“ _ No. _ ”

Richie smirks, leaning down to talk right into his ear again, his breath sending goosebumps all along the back of his neck.  “You’re getting to be a really shitty liar in your old age.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says without much malice.  He lets his mouth brush up against Richie’s earlobe as he shoots back, “Who says I’m lying?”

Richie’s hands go even tighter at his waist, pulling him closer.  “I  _ know _ you, Eds.  Anyway, I kinda like it.  You being jealous.” He pulls back so they can look each other in the eye.  

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” he says, parroting Eddie from before, looking at his mouth again.  

Eddie leans in.  He’s still got a little boldness running through his veins.  “So. Are you gonna kiss me, or what?”

“I plan on doing more than that, if you’ll let me,” Richie says, punctuating it with a playful squeeze to Eddie’s hips.  

“Shut up,” Eddie insists, pulling Richie down by the collar of his shirt and pushing their mouths together. 


	13. What you do to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: #180 - “You have no idea what you do to me.”
> 
> Dialogue-only fic; Richie and Eddie are at college on separate coasts but talk to each other over the phone almost every night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super important: The "Tootsee Roll" was a song from 1994 that also had an accompanying dance, much like the macarena. Observe: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qs7f3ssuEjA

R: Yellow?

E: Hey, Rich.

R: Aah!  Waiter, can I get a glass of red wine to go with this big beautiful bowl of spaghetti?

E: (laughing) You’re such a fucking idiot.

R: Aw.  I’ve missed your laugh.

E: Richie, we talk almost every night.  

R: Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you betwixt talks.

E: How are you?

R: I’m good.  Just got back from dinner.  Mac and cheese bar. I wish I had a purse; I would have smuggled some up to my room.  How was _your_ day, Eds?

E: Long.  Hard.

R: Tell me how long and hard it was.  Was it veiny?

E: I’m gonna hang up.

R: Nonononono, tell me about your day.  Please.

E: Eh, just the calc midterm, which was fucking long but turned out to be totally fucking easy, even though I’ve been killing myself over it for the past three weeks—

R: Yeah, I remember.

E: —and I had to go to the financial aid office and demonstrate “need” for next semester, which is always fun.

R: Boooo.

E: Yeah.  But I did get to go to that hip-hop class I’ve been meaning to try, and I was actually able to keep up.  That was cool.

R: I’m sure you rocked it.  If it was anything like your unforgettable dancing at prom.

E: Shut up.

R: You Tootsee Rolled like it was going out of style.  And it already was.

E: (laughing) _Shut.  Up._

R: _Now dip, baby, dip_ …

E: You’re the one who wore a powder blue tux to prom.

R: It was an homage to _Dumb and Dumber_ , spank you very much.

E: It was cute, actually.

R: …

E: …

R: Are you in bed already?  You sound like you’re in bed.

E: Yeah, I’m laying down.  It _is_ eleven o’clock here.

R: Hey: Did you ever end up going out with that guy from the GSA? The one in your calc class?

E: Oh—yeah.

R: How was it?

E: It was okay…

R: Did he kiss you?

E: Mm hmm.

R: Was that just okay too?

E: Kinda gross, actually.  He did that thing where they try swirling their tongue around yours, and it’s all rigid.

R: Sounds delightful.  Not a fan?

E: (laughing) _No._

R: ...What do you like then?

E: With kissing?  I like… soft. Gentle.  Slow.

R: …

E: ...Rich?

R: I’m here; just taking notes.

E: Shithead.

R: Spaghettibutt.

E: (sighs)

R: The gay dating pool there sounds really bleak.  You deserve way, way better than that, Eds.

E: I do?

R: An emphatic yes.

E: Emphatic, huh?

R: You’ve seen yourself, right?

E: Right.  “The Miss America of cute boys.”

R: ...I wasn’t joking.

E: ...I’m waiting for the punchline.

R: Well, there isn’t one.  You’re gorgeous, that’s all.

E: _Gorgeous?_  …

R: …

E: I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you use that word before.

R: I don’t, really.  But you’re, um… you’re a lot to look at, Eds.

E: A lot to look at?

R: _Yeah._ Your eyes and your _smile_ … and your laugh.  Your laugh kills me dead.  That’s probably why I tease you so much.

E: ...Is that the only reason you tease me?

R: I think you know it isn’t.

E: I _don’t_ know…  Rich, you’d tell me if you’re high right now, right?

R: I’m not high.  Just tired. And miss you.  And will probably regret saying all this in the morning.  Might as well go for broke.

E: Go for broke, then.

R: Okay.  ...I think—no, I know—I’ve spent more time thinking about kissing you than I have actually kissing anyone.

E: ...Wow.

R: Do you hate me?

E: _No._ Richie, I…

R: …

E: ...What do you think about?  Or, what have you thought about?

R: Are you sure you want to know?

E: Yes.

R: A lot of the time, I picture us in Derry, actually.  In your old bedroom, or even in the Barrens.

E: Outside?

R: Yeah.  The logical part of my brain knows you wouldn’t like it and it would never happen, though, so it’s usually your bedroom.  And I’m on your bed, and you’re… straddling me. And you’re just going to town on me, like pulling my hair and biting my lips and sucking my neck.  And you’re wearing a really old pair of shorts, and they’re really short and worn out, and I’ve got my hands all over your thighs.

E: …

R: And you keep making these... hot little noises.  Even though I’ve never heard you, I can picture exactly what they would sound like.  ...And you could teach me, if you wanted to. You could grab my face and show me how you like to be kissed.  Because I just want to make you feel good. That’s all I ever want.

E: Do you _just_ think about kissing me?

R: _Eddie_.  

E: What?

R: Have you met me?  Of course I think about more than just kissing you.  So much more.

E: Tell me.

R: ...Eds.

E: Hm?

R: Eds, are you…?

E: Yeah.

R: _Shit.  Seriously?_

E: …

R: (laughing) Well, now I have stage fright.

E: Don’t be scared, Rich.  Tell me, please. I want to know what you think about doing to me.  What you would do to me if I were there. _Please?_

R: Fuck, Eddie… you’re gonna kill me.

E: …

R: ...I really like the idea of you on top of me.  I think about that a lot. And sometimes you’ve got me in your hands, and you’re going so slow, it’s driving me _crazy_ … and then you suck me a little bit to make it wetter, make it easier… but then you say you like the way I taste so much, that you just want to keep sucking me.  And you do. And you’re so, so fucking good at it, I can’t stay still.

E: _God…_

R: Oh God, make that noise again.

E: Richie, are you…?  Are you too?

R: _Yeah._ But I want you to come first.

E: Richie, I… I…

R: What, baby?

E: Mm… I want… I want you to do everything to me.

R: Like what?  Tell me what you want.  I’ll do anything.

E: I want you to fuck me with your tongue.

R: Ohhh _fuck_ … I’d fucking devour you.  I know you taste so good. I’d have you sit on my face.  Hold onto those gorgeous thighs and let you ride it, ride my tongue.  Get you nice and wet.

E: And then I want your cock.

R: _Jesus_.  Yeah, I’d give it to you.  Get you on your stomach and fuck into you so deep.

E: Richie, I _want_ you.  I wish you were here.

R: _Eddie_ … you have no idea what you do to me.

E: …

R: _God_ , you sound so fucking good.  I wish I were there. _Baby._

E: _Richie… fuck me…_

R: _I’m fucking you…_

E: _Make me come…_

R: Let go.  Just let go.

E: I love you…

R: …

E: …

R: …

E: …

R: ...I thought I told you to come first.

E: ...Whose fault is that?

R: …

E: …

R: Eddie?

E: Rich, I didn’t mean to… it just—

R: I love you, too.


	14. Secret Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: You know what? I want a really good secret relationship fic. Where they’re keeping it a secret because they want to enjoy it just for themselves because they want to enjoy it without having to worry about what anyone else thinks for at least a little while.

Richie’s sprawled on Mike’s couch trying to not look at his watch every five seconds, leg bouncing, one hand buried in his hair where it’s nice and thick at the back of his head.  It’s their first summer back from college, and now that Eddie’s finally home–the seventh piece of the puzzle–they’re having a Losers reunion on the Hanlons’ farm.  

Except Eddie’s the last one to arrive tonight, by far, nearly an hour after everyone else had agreed to show up.  The others don’t seem to mind, popping popcorn on the stovetop, catching up, drinking beer, laughing all loud like there isn’t a big gaping hole in the room.  

“Richie,” Stan starts, his tone mostly teasing with an almost imperceptible hint of genuine worry underneath.  “Who should we thank for you being so quiet tonight?”

Just when Richie’s about to reply with one of the usual retorts in his arsenal ( _Your grandma, she really wore me out last night–who knew I could shoot my wad with Alex Trebek on in the background?_ ), there’s a soft knock on the door.  Richie sits up straight as a pool cue, palms slightly sweaty as they rub against the thighs of his jeans.  

Mike does a quick little jog down the front hall that feels like an eternity to Richie, voice full of joy as he pulls the door open and shouts, “Damn, Eddie,  _looking good_!”

Richie leans sideways to catch a sliver of Mike lifting Eddie clean off his feet and spinning him through the archway, a flash of blue shirt and wavy brown hair.  His heart’s in his throat.  He lingers in the living room as the others pull Eddie into the kitchen, checking his own hair in the glass covering one of the portraits hanging on the wall.  

Eddie spots him as he appears in the kitchen doorway, shooting him a secret little smile and wave before Ben lifts him off his feet too.  “I’m gonna puke, between the two of you,” he says, laughing as he settles back onto the floor, righting his shirt–it’s light blue, sleeveless, and his shorts are a light wash denim, cutoffs, definitely new and definitely not Eddie’s typical summer wear, just short enough to not be an accident.

The others watch as Richie steps into the room, schooling his expression and keeping his eyes above Eddie’s neck as he musses his hair.  “Still waiting on that growth spurt, huh, Spaghetti Man?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, pulling him in by the back of the neck for a hug, forcing Richie to fold over rather than getting on his toes.  Bev lifts an eyebrow at him over Eddie’s shoulder, and he sticks his tongue out at her.

The last time they saw each other was four months ago over winter break.  Richie’d snuck Eddie in through the back door of his parents’ house, and they’d made out against the kitchen counter for nearly fifteen minutes before Richie’d urged Eddie upstairs in fear of his father, the light sleeper.  They’d synchronized steps up to Richie’s bedroom and picked up where they’d left off on Richie’s bed, Richie shushing Eddie’s little moans and whispering, “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much, Eds” between kisses.  

They’d spent at least half the week avoiding their five closest friends in favor of sneaking off to neighboring towns some thirty or forty minutes away just to have some privacy.  They’d gone out on a proper date in Bar Harbor, dinner and dessert, Eddie’s foot nudging up against his ankle under the table where no one could see.  They’d gone for ice cream in Blue Hill, the owners looking at them like they were insane for even being there in the middle of January.  They’d sat in the empty balcony of an old movie theater in Bangor, too, Richie trying to shove peanut M&Ms into his mouth and watch  _Houseguest_  at the same time–and absolutely failing at either once Eddie’d leaned in and whispered, “I didn’t think you wanted to actually watch the movie,” then started mouthing at the side of his neck.  Richie’d struggled with the arm between their seats before shoving it roughly up and out of the way–and knocking all of his M&Ms onto the floor, plinking and rolling  _everywhere_.  Eddie’d collapsed into Richie’s lap, one hand clamped over his mouth as he cackled uncontrollably, the other patrons down below shushing them.  

Richie hadn’t even been that upset about the candy.  He’d just pulled Eddie into his lap and dipped him over the other seat arm and planted one on him to shut him up–and because he was so fucking in love he couldn’t see straight.  He’d said as much, whispered it right into Eddie’s mouth.  Eddie’d shot back, “No shit, Sherlock,” and flicked one of the lenses of his glasses.

The sneaking around had actually been Richie’s idea, not because he’s scared of what their friends will think; he knows they’ll be supportive as hell, and Bev and Stan know he’s been in love with Eddie since they were practically babies.  He’s just waited for this to happen for so fucking long that he just wants it to be  _theirs_ for a while, wants them to have the space to learn each other without their friends teasing or asking questions about their relationship.  

Eddie’d agreed, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.  His first year of college had been transformative; he’d come out and dated no less than three guys within his first semester at NYU, before Richie’d blurted a drunken confession during one of their late night phone calls.  He’s eager to be out and proud in every way, including with Richie.  

But it’s both his and Eddie’s first real relationship, and the first one Richie’s genuinely given a shit about.  The last thing he wants to do is fuck it up before it’s even begun.

They’d kept it going long distance–cross-country–through the spring semester, the two of them managing to not slip up in the Lucky Seven AOL chat room.

So now here they are, dancing around each other in front of their friends and trying to pretend like they haven’t been whispering laundry lists of what they love about each other between bouts of phone sex since the winter.

They’re having an 80s movie marathon to  _relive their youth_ , as Ben had put it, and they’re only fifteen minutes into  _Pretty in Pink_  when Richie completely loses interest.  Eddie’s sitting dutifully across the room from him, sprawled over one of the big cushy side chairs, shorts riding up high on his tawny thighs, legs rubbing together absently as he picks through his curls with his thumb and index finger, eyes trained on the screen.

Because they haven’t been able to visit each other since winter break, they haven’t gone any further than making out.  They’ve talked about it  _a lot_ , all the fucking time, actually, Eddie sweet and kind of shy about it but so eager and curious over the phone, whispering his fantasies to Richie’s open ear.  Richie hasn’t done more with guys than give a couple of random handjobs at summer camp, so he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either, but he wants to know, he really,  _really wants_.  

He feels kind of guilty for thinking it, but it’s a fucking shame that their first time seeing each other in months is with the others there.

He zeroes in on Eddie’s thighs from across the room, picturing how big his hands would look spread over them, holding them, his fingers pale against Eddie’s bronzed skin.  It’s something he’s thought about since high school, and now that it’s actually a possibility, it’s all he can think about.  

“I gotta pee,” he stage whispers, shuffling quickly out of the room and blindly making his way to the tiny half-bath near the den at the back of the house.  He shuts the door behind him and splashes cold water on his face, wondering if it’d be any easier if they were open about what they were, if it’d take the edge off if he at least got to cuddle with Eddie on the sofa.  “Nope,” he decides quietly under his breath, followed by a litany of  _Think unsexy thoughts_  a la Homer Simpson.

After a couple of minutes pass, there are soft footsteps and an even softer knock on the door.  He turns, pulling it open to find a smirking Eddie on the other side.  

“Eds, wh–”

Eddie holds a finger up to his mouth and slips inside the bathroom, closing the door behind them and locking it.  Richie stands there dumbfounded, as Eddie takes his hands and plants them on his hips.  “Hi,” he whispers, hands crawling up the open halves of Richie’s overshirt.  

Richie whines a little before crowding him against the door and kissing him, slow and open-mouthed, Eddie’s clever little tongue slipping out to lick inside, wrists draping loosely over Richie’s shoulders, hands in his hair.  Richie’s head is positively buzzing.  There’s no way he’s ever making it out of this bathroom, not anytime soon.  

He pulls away to take in a deep breath, hands wandering lower, over the rips in Eddie’s shorts, fingertips glancing over that warm skin.  “ _Jeee-sus, Mary, and Joseph_ , look at how good you look.”

Eddie scrapes his teeth over Richie’s bottom lip, tugging on the hair at his nape.  “I like your hair,” he says, referring to the purple Manic Panic Richie’d put in it earlier this week.  “Been wanting to get my hands in it since I saw you.”

“ _Eddie_ ,” he says, feeling helpless, before gripping the backs of his thighs and lifting him off the floor, carrying him to the edge of the sink and sitting him there.  Eddie wraps his legs around his lower back to pull him in even closer, mouth lush as it sucks at the skin under Richie’s ear.  Richie’s eyes land on their reflection in the bathroom mirror, and he watches his own hand palm one of Eddie’s thick, gorgeous thighs, hiking it higher on his own waist.  “ _Shit._  I’m already two seconds away from coming in my pants,” he confesses.  

Eddie lets out a triumphant little giggle, his breath tickling Richie’s neck, his teeth a flash of white in their reflection.  Richie sees his hand sneak down before he feels it gripping the outline of his hard dick over his jeans.  His nails dig into Eddie’s thighs.  He’s going to explode, right here and now.  

“Can’t we tell them?  I can’t stand being in the same room as you and not being able to touch you.”  Eddie punctuates his little plea with a squeeze of that hand, and Richie shivers.  

“I mean,” he says, swallowing, raising an eyebrow at Eddie.  “I don’t think the others would appreciate it if–”

“You know what I mean.”  Eddie kisses the sharp corner of his jaw.  

Richie takes his hand and gently removes it from his crotch, kissing his palm.  “You can touch me in front of them.  What do you think we did before this happened?  For years, Eds.”

“But I can’t kiss you,” Eddie murmurs.  “I want to kiss you.”

Richie spouts a string of quiet gibberish as Eddie opens his mouth against his neck again, sucking that spot right near his Adam’s apple that makes him fucking crazy.  Being able to watch it happen right in front of him is somehow even better than how it feels.  

He digs deep to find the strength to urge Eddie away from his neck and kisses him sweetly on the mouth.  When he pulls away, Eddie’s eyes are still half-closed and his mouth half-open.  “You might actually kill me tonight.”  Eddie smiles, looking pleased with himself.  “How ‘bout this?  We leave early, like after the first movie.  I’ll say I’m not feeling well–jet lag or whatever–and you offer to take me home.  We go back to my parents’ house,” he whispers, caressing Eddie’s thighs, “and I finally get to tear these fucking shorts off with my teeth.  Deal?”

“‘Kay,” Eddie agrees easily, giving Richie one more penetrating kiss before sliding off of the edge of the sink, creating a mind melting bit of friction between them.  “I’ll go first.  I was only supposed to be getting a glass of water.” He pecks Richie’s collarbone, whispers a quick, “Love you,” and slips back out of the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving Richie staring at his own wrecked reflection in the mirror.  He splashes another round of cold water on his face.

By the time he walks back into the living room, Eddie’s halfway done with his water and Blaine and Andy are at the rich kids’ party.  Richie settles back onto the couch, their friends seemingly none the wiser–until he pops open a can of Sprite and Stan announces dryly, “We know you’re dating, morons.”


	15. Deep Thoughts with Richie Tozier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: the freaky friday thing, if you’re still accepting prompts — uh, like we know how much eddie likes to think about richie’s dick whether they’re dating or not. just the way it looks in sweatpants, how long it is, etc. well, i’d like to hear richie’s thoughts on eddie’s cock?? :’)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is brief and ridiculous.

“What are my thoughts on Eddie’s dick, you ask?”

“ _ Nobody _ asked,” Stan says, adjusting his tie and taking a few sips of water.  

The Losers are at Ben and Bev’s wedding, sequestered to their own table (probably for this very reason), all several beverages in and most of the other guests having already gone home.  Eddie and Mike are still cutting it up on the dance floor, but even the DJ looks restless, and Richie personally cannot wait to take his gorgeous, well-dressed boyfriend home once he finally stops shaking it to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.”  Richie’s been half-hard for the last four or five songs at least, watching Eds put everyone else out there to shame. It’s times like these he really can’t believe how lucky he is--and he’s eager to show Eddie how lucky he feels. 

But Eddie’s still dancing, so back to talking about his dick in public.  Nobody else at the table chimes in after Stan, so Richie drives forward. 

“When we first started dating,” he begins thoughtfully, “I was pretty preoccupied with his ass, for obvious reasons.”  Bill’s eyes dart out to the dance floor to find Eddie, just to check in on those reasons, and Stan kicks him under the table.  “Probably because we were young and he wasn’t ready for me to get all up in it yet, so it was like this forbidden fruit. Now that gorgeous little peach is my best friend.”  Richie finds Eddie, too, watching the way his grey dress pants cling to him, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “But then he let me suck his dick for the first time.”

Stan groans, draining the rest of his vodka tonic quickly and clearly tuning Richie out.  

“As you both know, I’m a shower, not a grower.  My dick’s about yea long,” he says, pulling a breadstick from the canister by the centerpiece--which Stan promptly breaks in half. 

“Now it’s accurate,” he says, tossing the remaining half into Richie’s lap. 

Richie doesn’t miss a beat.  “Eds is pretty average in length, but  _ God _ is his dick pretty.  I swear, it’s like the dick prototype.”

Stan excuses himself to use the restroom, making gagging noises as he shoves his chair away from the table. 

“Seriously,” Richie continues, leaning insistently into Bill’s space.  “Like, you look up  _ cock  _ in the dictionary, and there’s Eddie’s dick blushing back at you, all perfect length and shape.  But my favorite thing about Eddie’s dick is how thick it is.  _ Fuck. _ ”  By this point, Bill has started eyeing the exits. __ “The way he fills me up…”  Richie blows the air out of his mouth dramatically.  “It’s something else. And fun fact: sometimes after Eddie’s gone to sleep, it gives me advice.  It’s very wise.”

As if on cue, the song ends and Eddie appears, flushed with a sheen at his temples, wrapping his arms around Richie from behind.  “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Richie says, pressing twin kisses to his palms.  “Totally unrelated, but baby, can I get some of that dick later?”

“ _ Oh my God _ ,” Eddie groans, chuckles, slapping both hands over Richie’s face.  But not two seconds later, he brings his mouth up right next to Richie’s ear and murmurs a covert, definitive “Yes.”

Richie pumps a fist in celebration, upsetting the broken breadstick in his lap and somehow sending it flying across the table. 


	16. Mating Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: okay I'm gonna ask for the thing that I told you I was gonna ask for WEEKS ago - which is FUN sex. laughs, weirdness, general goofy, joyful stuff, if you're up for it!! (p.s. Freaky Friday is great and you're a godsend xoxo gossip skells)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a continuation of the wedding prompt from before (but can totally be read as a standalone).

Despite Richie’s lack of finesse, he totally gets what he wants later that night (which, if Eddie thinks about it, is really the foundation for their entire relationship).  

They’re both still tipsy, and Eddie is about half an hour from passing out entirely, so they gleefully skip foreplay, Eddie flopping onto his back on their bed, still fully dressed except for his tie, which he tore off the second they were in the door, and Richie shimmying out of his clothes at the foot of the bed.  

Eddie strokes himself over his pants with a little yawn and a smile.  “You looked so good tonight.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks playfully as he turns, displaying himself like a 50s pinup as he pushes his boxer briefs down his long, long legs.  His hair is a fucking disaster, and as always, it still manages to look really hot that way. 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, his smile turning into a smirk, fingers pushing down on his bulge hard, urging it to full thickness.  “Apparently some of Ben’s younger cousins wouldn’t stop talking about you. I was  _ this close _ to rumbling with a seventh grader.”

Richie chuckles, grabbing some loot from the bedside table before crawling over Eddie’s prone figure.  “Would’ve killed to see that,” he says, already uncapping the lube and squeezing way too much into the palm of his hand, the bottle making a hilariously loud farting noise.  Richie’s face contorts into an exaggerated grimace. 

Eddie slaps a hand over his forehead, laughing so hard it’s silent.  “Do you want some help with that?” He maneuvers his body so he can slip his belt out from the loops in his pants, tossing it over the side of the bed, then pulls his fly open.  Richie sits back on his haunches, dick flushed and bobbing, his lube-filled hand hovering precariously over the both of them as Eddie pushes his pants and briefs down to just under his knees and rucks his shirt up just enough so it isn’t in the way.  

Richie’s eyes go dark at the sight.  “ _ Ohh _ , we’re doing that, huh?”

“C’mere.”  Eddie holds a hand out, and Richie tips his own palm over it, letting about half the lube drip off.  He immediately curls that hand around his cock and gives it a hard, purposeful stroke that has Richie already going breathless.  

“ _ Shit _ ,” he says, scrambling to kneel over Eddie’s thighs, coating his fingers sloppily and reaching back to sneak one digit inside of himself.  

They watch each other, Eddie’s hand slowing as he lets out a little whimper.  “How long has it been? Do you remember?”

Richie screws his face up, feeling how tight he is.  “Feels like… five months, maybe six?”

Eddie’s hand abandons his own dick, slapping Richie on the thigh and then gripping the sheets beneath them.  He must be close already, Richie notes with some triumph. “It can’t have been that long.”

“We don’t do this enough,” Richie laments, adding another finger with a low purr.  He sees Eddie working to control his breathing, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “You think you’ll last long enough, old man?”

“ _ Fuck off _ ,” Eddie says around a gusty laugh.  “Are you ready yet?”

“ _ No _ , you’re really thick.  I need another finger.”

“I’m about to jerk off and leave the rest to that dildo you gave me for my birthday last year.”

“You leave Dr. Dick Stevens, Licensed Proctologist out of this.”

Eddie cackles, tears springing to the corners of his eyes.  Richie watches him fondly from above as he adds that third finger with a wince that quickly gives way to a somewhat pleasurable little hum.  Eddie’s eyes go dark as they rove the wiry muscles of his boyfriend’s limbs, the lines of his stomach, the tasteful sprinkling of dark hair across his chest and straight down to his navel and beyond.  “Baby, I want you,” he whispers, imploring. 

“Fuck it,” Richie says, gently pulling his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets, and shuffling forward, Eddie’s hands sliding up his thighs to grip his hip bones.  He puts on his Sir David Attenborough voice. “And in an unexpected turn of events, the majestic gazelle mounts the bear cub.”

“ _ Ewwww _ .  Also, that’s not accurate,” Eddie protests primly.  “Technically, I’m mounting you right now, penetration-wise.

“Oh honey, it gets me so hot when you use the word penetration.”  Richie reaches behind himself and down, gripping Eddie’s thick cock in one hand, giggling as it slips from his grip with all the lube.  

“And I’m not a fucking  _ bear cub _ .  I’m a… sexy… tiger.”  Eddie’s voice goes breathy as the head of his dick nudges against Richie’s rim.  

Richie smirks.  “That you are. Y’know, we’re teetering dangerously close to bestiality talk here.”

“ _ EW! _ ”  Eddie clenches his eyes and stabs himself in the lids with his fingertips.  “You gave me mental images.”

“C’mere.”  Richie pries one of Eddie’s hands away from his face and starts licking at his fingers.  “If I were an actual gazelle and you were a sexy lion--”

“Tiger,” Eddie corrects tightly, chest heaving.  Richie really had better get on with it, soon.

“-- _ tiger _ … I would still totally fuck you.  Nature be damned.”

“That’s comforting.”

Richie lays Eddie’s hand over his chest, where it typically likes to go whenever they’re together like this.  His voice is low. “Ready?”

Eddie nods, gasping, eyes shut and pouty lips forming a gorgeous “o” as Richie takes him in.

“God  _ damn _ ,” Richie says eventually, squirming and readjusting until Eddie’s seated all the way inside.  His big hands settle over Eddie’s clavicle. “You feel so fucking good.”

Eddie’s fingers push through his chest hair, the thumb on his other hand caressing his hip bone.  “You  _ look  _ so fucking good.”

Richie suddenly looks thoughtful as he tests out a small pulse in his hips.  “I hope I don’t throw up on you.”

“You’re not that drunk, are you?”  Eddie looks genuinely alarmed. 

Richie makes his hand dance in the space between them in a  _ comme ci comme ça  _ motion.  “Could go either way.”

Eddie smiles despite himself.  “I’ll fucking kill you.” He tickles Richie’s hips, making his muscles clench in a way that has him keening, his hands dropping and gripping the sheets instead.  “ _ God _ .”

“ _ Wow _ ,” Richie says, eyes going wide.  “Never heard that before. I like  _ that _ noise.”

Apparently a glutton for punishment, Eddie gives Richie a little tickle again, creating that mind-meltingly pleasurable effect all over again.  “ _ Shit.   _ Shit.  That’s good.”

Richie glares playfully, grabbing Eddie’s hands so he can’t touch him, and starts riding him in earnest.  “Let me have some fun, too, huh?”

Eddie inches up to smear an awkward kiss across his boyfriend’s mouth.  “I guess I’ll allow it.”


	17. Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reddiepop requested a bday fic, so here it is. :D

The morning of Eddie’s thirty-fifth birthday, a cupcake with a single candle appears through the crack in his bedroom door.  He props his head up on his hand, elbow digging into the mattress, and yawns.  “You forgot to light it, weirdo.” **  
**

Richie bumps the door open with one socked foot and slithers inside with a toothy grin.  “Happy birthday, c–”

“‘Cupcake.’  I know, I know.”  Eddie smiles, pulsing one grabby hand at the treat.  “This is the third year you’ve done this.”

And for the third year in a row, Richie mimes smushing the frosting-end of the cupcake into Eddie’s face before placing it gently into the palm of his hand.  “Perfect fit,” he says, examining where the edges of the bottom line up with the lines at the bottoms of Eddie’s fingers.  

Eddie peels the wrapper down and takes a big bite.  It isn’t homemade; Richie gets it from his favorite deli two blocks down.  But it tastes great anyway.  “Go ahead: sing the song.”

Last year, Richie’d composed an original song–more like a manic chant–titled “You’re Fucking Old.”  He’d jumped on Eddie’s bed, clapping and shouting it until their downstairs neighbors banged on the ceiling to get him to shut up.  It  _was_ seven in the morning, after all.  

Richie wipes some of the sleep out of his own eyes with the heel of his hand, his glasses bouncing up and down as he does.  “What song?   _Oh._   No.  Not this year.  You look far too youthful for such an insult.”  He yawns wide and long, curling his fingers into Eddie’s duvet.  “Besides, I want you to start the day confident if you’re going out with whatshisface again tonight.”

“ _Paul_ ,” Eddie says.  “And we’re not going out again; I broke it off.”  

“Hm.  Why’s that?” Richie mumbles, feigning nonchalance.  Eddie can tell by now.

He shrugs.  “Just wasn’t into it.  And I am now officially thirty-five.  I can’t afford to mess around with someone I don’t give a shit about.”

Richie purses his lips thoughtfully, watching as Eddie devours the rest of the cupcake, thumbing chocolate frosting from his face and sucking it off his fingertips.  “ _Welp_ ,” he says grandly, standing with a stretch (another tradition), “I did print you up a coupon for one passionate night with me if you’re already tired of that dildo Stan got you last year.  I left it on the kitchen counter.”  He does a slow, tired turn on his heel and makes for the door again, to leave Eddie to his birthday morning in peace.

In the spirit of shaking things up–or maybe it’s just to fuck with Richie–Eddie sucks the last bit of frosting off his thumb and chirps, “Okay.”

Richie whips around at the speed of light.  “What was that?”

Eddie smirks.  “I said okay.”

His best friend approaches for the second time, pointing a finger, squinting, and smiling.  “You calling my bluff?  ‘Cause I’m not bluffing.”

“You’re not?”  Eddie stays propped on that elbow, the duvet folded down to his waist.  He just woke up, so he isn’t exactly bringing his A game, but he’s never had to impress Richie.  

Richie shakes his head wildly from side to side.  “You tell me the time, and I will be here with bells on.  I hope I can get in a wax,” he mutters to himself–another joke.

Eddie grabs a pillow from the other side of the bed and thrashes it at him.  “ _Stop it._   I was only sort of kidding.”  He heaves a put-upon sigh.  “You remember that night junior year–”

“When we made out in Mike’s barn.   _Yes._ ”

“It was good,” Eddie admits, watching Richie’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.  “Shut up, you were totally hard the entire time.  I felt it.  And I know we were both kind of freaked out at the time because we were sixteen year-old idiots and were afraid it would _destroy our friendship forever_ or some dramatic teenage shit like that, but: here we are, almost twenty years later and not only best friends but living with each other.  I’d say our friendship is pretty bulletproof.”

Richie’s face softens into something unexpectedly serious at that.  “Yeah, it is.”

“So.  Let’s give it a shot.  You’ve thought about it, right?”

“Uh.”  Richie actually blushes, something Eddie’s rarely seen in all the time they’ve been friends.  “ _May-be_ ,” he says while nodding his head very much affirmatively, making Eddie giggle.

“So have I,” Eddie admits.  “We try it, and if it feels too weird, we stop, and that’s it.”  He grabs for the pillow again, nearly bringing it to his mouth and biting into it.  “But seriously, I need someone to touch me _tonight_ or I’m going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

“Speaking of dramatic teenage shit.”  Richie actually looks hesitant to agree.

Eddie sighs through his nose and pushes up to sit, tossing the cupcake wrapper into the bin nearby before crooking a finger at Richie.  “C’mere.  Just… kiss me.  And if it’s weird, we call the whole thing off.”

Richie licks his lips, digging his fingertips into the duvet again before he scoots a little closer.  Eddie wastes no time, pulling him in by the neck of his sleep tee and slotting their mouths together.  It  _should_  be weird–they haven’t kissed since they were kids–but it really isn’t.  It’s almost like they’ve been practicing in their heads for years, one of Richie’s hands curling around the back of Eddie’s neck and making him purr into his mouth.  Eddie quickly deepens the kiss, forcing their heads into opposing tilts and licking into Richie’s mouth as he pushes the duvet away and crawls frantically into his lap, knocking him onto his back across the bed.  

Richie pulls away with a labored exhale, his big hands landing on Eddie’s bare thighs.  He swallows.  “Holy shit.”

“Weird?” Eddie breathes, worried, but Richie shakes his head violently before tilting it up in a silent plea for more.  Eddie covers his mouth with his own again, already rocking gently against Richie’s crotch, Richie’s hands sliding up and under his boxers, fingertips nearly reaching the crease of his thighs.  Richie lets out a low groan when Eddie finds the right spot and gets the friction  _just_ right, hands sliding up to wrap around his hips and guide him.  

Eddie finally pulls away and lets out a breathy laugh into Richie’s neck.  

“What?  What?” Richie asks, squeezing his hips.  

“I kissed you two seconds ago, and we’re already dry humping in my bed.”

Richie slaps a hand over his face and laughs, too.  “Jesus Christ, you’re right.”  He forms a tight “o” with his mouth, blowing out a slow, steady stream of air.  He glances down.  “You’re popping out of your boxers.”

“ _No I’m not!_ ”  Eddie twists a vicious pinch into Richie’s side, making him curl up like a dried up flower petal.  

“ _Ohhh, fuck me on my birthday, Mr. Tozier_ ,” Richie simpers in his best Marilyn Monroe.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Eddie says, smiling as he yawns against Richie’s neck.  

There’s a long, companionable silence as they lay there together, Eddie still sprawled out on top of him.  

Richie eventually gives one of his hips a gentle pinch.  “To be continued?  Tonight?” he asks seriously.  Eddie can feel his heart pounding underneath him.

Eddie nods against him.  “Yeah.  Let’s do it.”


	18. Not a Chirp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @tinyarmedtrex prompted: Bondage with Stan + anyone?  
> AND  
> @reddie-for-anything prompted: Can you give me some Dominant Stan? You choose the ship.

“Mikey?”

“Hm?”  His own voice is a breathy whine in his ears.

“You gonna be good for me?”  One of Stan’s long, elegant thumbs comes to rest in the divot between his collar bones.

“So good.”

Stan clucks his tongue in thought.  Mike can feel his warm breath ghost over the blindfold covering his eyes.  Everything is a reddish-black, and his head is pleasantly cottony.  Mike feels the urge to babble and he can’t stop himself, he’s babbling almost immediately following the urge.  

“Stan, baby, please, I want you.  I want you _so much_.”

He’s barely finished murmuring when Stan’s pressing a bruising kiss against his mouth.  “You’re gonna have to wait, my little sparrow.”

“ _No.  Please_.”  Mike isn’t even embarrassed; Stan’s always had him like this, from the very first time.  His hands twist and curl against the tight binds of Stan’s neckties.  

Stan’s vicious little teeth bite his bottom lip–once, twice.  Their relationship is so appropriate in front of the others.  Sweet.  Polite.  They’d never believe it if they saw them like this.  It sends an electric current up Mike’s spine.  

“Quiet,” Stan says gently, then sinks down onto his cock–warm and wet, impossibly good, Mike’s head tilting back and his mouth falling open, breath quick, panting.  “Not a chirp.”


	19. A night without mouthwash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompted: eddie accidentally coming across richie masturbating (before they’re together, pre-relationship) 👀  
> *  
> Eddie’s visiting Richie at his college, where he has a single room. Besties with sexual tension, ahoy!

“Hey, you got any mouthwa–oh shit!”  Eddie turns away, the door to Richie’s dorm room still propped open by his foot, fingers pressed into his eyelids, trying to will away the flash of Richie’s dick he got as he poked his head in just moments ago.  “Rich, seriously?!”  He’d at least had the decency to fling the comforter back over himself to cover up.  “I was gone for, like, two seconds.”

“I haven’t had any alone time since you got here!  A man has needs!  And your nighttime routine usually takes a good twenty minutes.  I can come twice in that amount of time.”

Eddie lets out a desperate laugh.  “Oh my  _God_.  I’ll just.  I’ll do without mouthwash tonight.  Do what you gotta do.”  He shuffles back into the bathroom across the hall, red-faced and heart pounding, smiling around his toothbrush.  He makes sure to spend an extra ten minutes on getting ready for bed on top of his usually twenty, just to cover his bases.

When he comes back, Richie’s laying stick straight in bed, some sci-fi novel propped open on his stomach.  Eddie slips into the twin bed beside him and gets comfortable.  It’s a challenge; Richie’s bed isn’t his own, and suddenly he has a hard time not thinking about all he gets up to in it, both alone and not alone.  The thought of  _not alone_  makes his stomach turn a little.  

“Rich?”

“Yeah?”

“How often do you…?”

“Usually twice a day.  When I don’t have company.”  Richie continues reading his book, Eddie notices with a smile.  He’s always prided himself on multitasking.  Eddie’s missed seeing it in person.  “How ‘bout you?”

“ _Richie._ ”

“ _Eddie._ ”  Richie puts on a deep mocking voice as he says it.

Eddie turns away, onto his side, before revealing, “Well, I never have.”  He hears Richie’s book come down onto his stomach to rest, finally.

“Get the fuck outta here.  Seriously?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.  I wouldn’t.”  He can sense Richie turn onto his side, too, facing him.  “I just.  It surprises me.”

Eddie smirks, peering at him over his shoulder.  “Why the fuck would it surprise you?  Have you met my mother?”

“Yeah, but you’re just  _so_.  I’ve always seen you as a very sexual person.”

Eddie turns back onto his back.  He wants to see Richie’s face right now.

“And I mean, you’re truly adorable.  If I were you, I’d be touching myself all the time.”

Eddie slaps both hands over his face and laughs.  “ _Oh my God_.  I’m laying in bed with you, and you’re using a pickup line.”  Richie simply gives him a toothy grin.  “When you say you see me as a sexual person, what do you mean?”

“Uh,” Richie says, flopping onto his back and picking up his book again.  “We probably shouldn’t talk about this right now.”

“No, I want to know.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Richie sighs.  “I just… I can see you that way.  Easily.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off Richie’s face, watching it carefully, hoping for  _something_.  “What way?”

“ _Eddie._ ”

“ _Richie._ ”  He throws Richie’s own mocking voice back at him.

Richie shuts his book, and this time he chucks it across the room so it lands right on the windowsill.  “Alright.  You know how some people you just can’t picture doing anything with anyone?  Or don’t want to?”

“Yeah.  I guess so.”

“Well… you’re  _not_ in that category.”

Eddie can’t hide his smile.  “…I wouldn’t think you’d see me that way.”

“Full of surprises, that’s me.”  Richie’s hands flail, looking for something to occupy them again and failing.  “Do you wanna go to sleep now?”

Eddie shakes his head and turns full-body toward Richie, propping his head up on one of his hands.  

Richie throws him a playful smirk.  “You seriously  _never_  have?  Never?”

“I’ve tried, but just always felt too weird or guilty.  Or like I’d do it wrong.”

“So long as it feels good, you’re not doing it wrong.”  He looks at Eddie and sighs.  “You’ve gotta stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“ _That._ ”

Eddie notices Richie’s blushing.  “…Or what?”

“Or I’m gonna tackle you.”

Eddie bites his lip.  

Richie shrugs.  “Alright, that’s it.”  He throws one impossibly long leg over Eddie’s hips, mounting him, and starts tickling mercilessly.  Eddie shrieks, trying to curl up and protect himself but unable to; Richie’s just too fucking  _gangly_.  His goddamn limbs are  _everywhere_.  Eddie’s stronger, though, especially now that he’s actually been hitting the weight room at his own college, and throws Richie back on his back, finagling his way on top and pinning his wrists to the bed.  “ _Oh yeah_ , this is one of the things I pictured.”

“Shut the fuck up!”  Eddie’s blushing now.  He pinches Richie’s side.  

Richie winces but doesn’t struggle; he looks pretty comfortable, actually.  Eddie shifts his hips just to feel what it feels like.  He knows he’s hard, but he’s not sure if Richie is, and he wonders wildly if he could get him there.  He wonders–  “You’re lookin’ real good, Kaspbrak,” Richie interrupts his thoughts, his big, square palms landing on Eddie’s bare thighs.  His eyes go huge behind his glasses as Eddie releases one of his wrists to palm the side of his face, thumb playing just at the corner of his full mouth.  

Eddie leans in just a little.  “Can I…?”

Richie nods.


	20. Drunk Eddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a major hankering for drunk Eddie being taken care of by Richie, so yes, I prompted myself. You don’t know my life.

“Alright, drunky,” Richie declares, rising with a grunt and heaving Eddie over his shoulder.  “Time for bed.”  Eddie squeals but goes willingly, sighing heavily as Richie’s hands come to rest on his thighs, just above the backs of his knees.  “Jeez, when’d you get so goddamn heavy, Eds?”

“I do squats and lunges with weights at least three times a week, sometimes four.  My butt is all muscle now.  Feel,” he insists, reaching back with one hand and forcibly sliding Richie’s up to cup him there.  

Richie throws a helpless look at Bev and Stan, who are both muffling laughter with their glasses of spiced rum.  He brings his hand back down to the relatively safer territory of Eddie’s thigh.  “No-can-do, shortcake.  We both know I have no upper body strength, and it’s way easier to hold onto you from here.”

“I like being held onto,” Eddie says, his voice increasingly dreamy and slow as Richie carefully makes his way up the stairs to his own bedroom.  “You’re so warm.”

“That’s a Tozier trait; it’s genetic,” Richie retorts, gently depositing Eddie on his still unmade bed, cradling his head as it comes to rest on his pillow.  His heart thunders traitorously in his chest as he sees Eddie’s big sparkling eyes blinking up at him, his face flushed enticingly.  He clears his throat.  “Lemme get your shoes.”  He sits at the foot of the bed, untying Eddie’s pristine white sneakers and placing them gently on the floor, the way Eddie would if he weren’t so intoxicated.  

“Where’re you gonna sleep, Rich?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, cutie.  I’m gonna get you some water, and then  _you’re_ gonna get some sleep.”

Eddie’s eyes are already half closed.  He smiles.  “I like when you call me that.  _Cutie._ ”  His lips purse goofily around the word, making him chuckle.  

Richie stands, ready to retrieve that glass of water.  “Welp.  A cutie by any other name wouldn’t be as… “  One of Eddie’s small but dexterous hands gets hold of his sleeve and tugs him back down, so roughly that he stumbles and has to catch himself, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Eddie’s shoulders.  “…Cute,” he breathes, their faces inches apart.  

“Don’t go,” Eddie murmurs, actually fucking pouting, which is  _so_  unfair.  

A frustrated exhale pushes its way out of Richie’s mouth.  They’ve been dancing around this thing between them for months – years, honestly – and he would love nothing more than to throw all caution to the wind with the ready-made excuse of alcohol at their fingertips.  But he also wants it to be  _right_.  Eddie deserves that.  He deserves  _at least_  that.  “Sweetheart.”  He pushes a long thumb over Eddie’s smooth cheek.  “Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”

Eddie pulls him closer and insists, “I won’t regret it” in a fierce whisper.  

Richie swallows, drumming up the nerve to resist his best friend–and the boy he’s been in love with since before they went through puberty.  “Tell you what: I’ll come back in here bright and early tomorrow to wake you up.  And if you still want me to kiss you, just point to your gorgeous little mouth and say, ‘Plant one on me, Tozier.’  And I will.  Deal?”

Eddie smiles, wide and toothy, glancing down at Richie’s lips.  “Deal.”


	21. Drunk Eddie Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all asked for part deux, and I couldn't help myself.

Richie wakes up the next morning with a jolt, upsetting the pillows by his feet and sending them toppling over the side of the couch.  He doesn’t understand his body’s over-the-top reaction to the sunlight until moments from the night before start coming back to him in little slivers of flashes.  Eds curled up in his lap, head on his shoulder, fingers in his hair.  Eds staring at his mouth.  The promise of  _tomorrow morning_.  

His head turns so quickly toward the VCR across the room that his neck nearly goes completely out of whack.  He fumbles for his glasses, finding them wedged between two of the couch cushions, and shoves them onto his face.  10:23 read the angry red numbers.  “ _Shit._ ”

He throws the blankets off of himself and sprints across the living room, careful not to upset any of the other Losers sprawled on the floor sleeping off the inevitable hangover.  Richie bolts up the stairs, taking them two at a time, despite being freshly awake and feeling like a newborn calf on his legs.

The first thing he notices is that his bedroom door is wide open.  “ _Shit_ ,” he breathes.  He hopes Eddie didn’t sneak out this morning out of embarrassment or worse, regret.

But when he peers around the open doorway, Eds is still very much there, looking considerably groggy but awake, sitting cross-legged on top of the freshly made bed, one of Richie’s sci-fi novels cracked open in his lap, a hardcover that nearly dwarfs his small frame.  He’s swapped out his jeans for a pair of Richie’s sweats that are bunched up around his legs.

Richie clears his throat, feeling like a fucking idiot.  “Hey.”

Eddie looks up and smiles.  “Hi.”

“…S-sleep okay?”  Richie scratches at the back of his neck, finally noticing his morning headache.

“Yeah,” Eddie chirps, totally oblivious.  “Your bed’s really comfortable.  This doesn’t make any fucking sense to me,” he gestures to the book, “but I’m good.”

Richie exhales in relief, approaching the bed.  Even if Eds doesn’t remember, maybe they’re still all right.  “Okay, you’re gonna tell me that your head  _doesn’t_  feel like the inside of a horse’s asshole this morning?  I saw how much you drank.”

Eddie shrugs, glancing at the bedside table, his brow furrowed adorably.  “I dunno.  Someone must’ve taken really good care of me, given me lots of water and Tylenol or somethin’, ‘cause I don’t feel a thing.”

“Yeah,” Richie laughs, his heart falling.  “Probably Bev.”  

“Rich.”  Eddie smirks.  

“Yeah?”

“I’m fucking with you.  I remember you putting me to bed.”

“ _Oh_ , okay.”  Richie plops down at the foot of the bed and picks at a loose thread on his flannels.  It still doesn’t answer whether or not Eddie remembers  _everything_.  

“Gimme a sec,” Eddie says, smirk still intact, putting the book aside and shuffling out of the room.

Richie hears him in the bathroom: the telltale zip of his neat little pack of toiletries, something as comforting to Richie as the sound of his own mother’s voice, the water running, the swish of a toothbrush against teeth.  He doesn’t dare to hope; Eds is totally fucking regimented, so it doesn’t mean anything.  That is until he hears the gargle of mouthwash.  All in, the process takes an agonizing full five minutes, Richie shifting restlessly on his own bed all the while. 

He scrambles when he hears Eddie coming back down the hall, picking up the book and reading the blurb on the inside cover, even though he already knows it by heart.  “Good?” he asks when Eddie comes through the door.

“Mm hmm.”  Eddie shuffles back in, stopping on a dime right in front of Richie.  

Richie drops the book and looks up, heart pounding loud enough that he swears the whole house can hear it.

Eddie’s hands are on his hips, though his face looks nervous.  “Well.  Plant one on me, Tozier.”

 _Holy shit._  “…You.  You sure?”

“Yeah.”  

“Want me to brush my teeth?” Richie asks stupidly.  

Eddie shrugs.  “I’ll risk it.”

“Okay,” Richie breathes, realizing his hands are shaking.  A part of him wishes the both of them were still drunk.  Eds is short enough that he doesn’t have to stand to reach him, instead reaching up with both shaking hands and cradling his face–and seeing just how much his wide palms engulf Eddie’s cheeks helps him relax.  They both smile just before he leans in and slots their lips together, hoping in vain that their first kiss will convey just how long he’s waited for it, how often he’s pictured it, how much he’s wanted it.  

Eddie lets out a little hum of loss when Richie pulls them apart.  He clasps their hands together, holding them between their bodies, and steps closer, between the spread of Richie’s legs, resting his forehead against his.  

The sound of at least two or three of their friends finally stirring floats up from the floor below.  Bill wonders aloud if Richie has pancake mix, Mike insisting they also need eggs in order to make that happen.  Bill still sounds a little drunk.  Bev asks Ben if he’d be so kind as to chop her head off, it hurts that much.

Richie feels the gust of Eddie’s laugh against his face.  “I hate our friends right now.”

There’s that smirk again.  “I’ll close the door,” Eddie says, simple and sure before doing just that, then turning back around and planting one on Richie, followed by many, many more.


	22. what got into you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I woke up the day before Valentine’s Day feeling like a giant horndog and wanting to write Reddie morning sex. Soooooooooo.

Richie wakes to the warm, wet, tingling sensation of Eddie’s mouth latched to his neck.  He raises a tired–but totally game–eyebrow.  “ _Oh._  Okay.”

“G’morning,” Eddie smiles into the crook of his neck, scraping his teeth over the skin there before slithering on top of him and straddling his hips.  His hair is a gorgeous little mess, his eyes bleary but bright as they meet Richie’s, sleep shirt slipping off his shoulder, cheeks flushed.

“God,” Richie murmurs, wrapping tight hands around his waist, anchoring himself.  “You look so fucking good.”  

Eddie merely hums in response, eyelids fluttering a little as he rocks their hips together, hands pulsing gently over Richie’s ribs.

 _Is it my birthday?_  Richie wants to say, but sometimes he actually knows when to keep his mouth shut, and now is one of those times.  He grips Eddie’s waist a little more firmly, encouraging him to roll into him a little harder, which he does, thighs going taut and then lax with the movement.

“What do you want, my love?” Richie asks quietly, still not wanting to break the spell.  “What can I do for you?”

“ _Everything._   Want you all over me.”

Richie gives him a lazy smirk.  “Greedy little princess.”

Before Eds can protest, Richie’s flipping them, planting his elbows on either side of his head and circling his hips down hard, biting at his throat.  Eddie whines, hands slipping down to grip his ass.  “ _Baby._ ”  

Richie moves fast, giving him a departing kiss and a sweet smile before rucking Eddie’s shirt up, mouth working a path down the center of his stomach.  He opens his mouth over the hard bulge of Eddie’s cock, breathing hot and heavy against the cotton of his sleep shorts.  Eddie moans loud, already so ready for it, so Richie licks him over his shorts.  Eddie grips his hair hard, not relenting all through Richie lifting his hips and slipping his shorts down his legs and off, throwing them carelessly over the side of the bed.  He throws the duvet off of them and out of the way while he’s at it, exposing Eddie’s naked bottom half to the air, his t-shirt still rucked up just under his ribs, fluffy hair haloing his head on the pillow, mouthing at his own fingers, eyes a fiery amber and locked on Richie’s.  

“ _Jesus._ ”  He palms the insides of Eddie’s thighs, pushing them up, up, up, so his legs are wide open, knees bent at a ninety-degree angle.  He can see his chest heaving with anticipation.  “Honey, I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

Eddie’s request echoes in his head– _want you all over me_ –so he tries to envelop him, arms tucked underneath his thighs, hands splayed wide over his chest, holding him steady (or at least still) as he starts tonguing at his dick.  “ _Yes_ ,” Eddie sighs, breathy and already so responsive, the sounds of his satisfaction settling somewhere deep inside Richie that only he’s ever been able to reach.  He takes him all the way down, swallowing around the head, glancing up to watch as Eddie’s eyes fall shut and his mouth opens around a moan.  Richie moans right back, loving how warm and sleep-sweet Eddie’s skin is in the morning, and takes him down again, getting him nice and wet, encouraged by the tightening of his hand in his hair.  

When he finally pulls off, Eddie’s hand comes down to cradle his face, thumb running over his puffy bottom lip.  “So pretty,” he whispers.  

Richie bites his thumb playfully, eliciting a giggle on his way down to lick at the skin behind Eddie’s balls, his hands sliding down and coming to rest on his stomach.  When he flattens his tongue over Eddie’s hole, he squirms so much Richie has to hold him still.  Eddie  _loves_  being eaten out, more than he’d ever admit, the little gasps and hitches in his breath betraying him.  And it drives him  _nuts_  when Richie does it nice and slow like he’s doing right now, just taking his time, no rush, laving his tongue over the ridged textures and dipping it inside, pausing to suck a wet kiss into the inside of one of Eddie’s thighs.  

Eddie’s feet slide restlessly along Richie’s shoulder blades, hand impossibly tight in his hair now, ensuring that Richie’s head’ll be sore the rest of the day.  His hips pulse in little circles, working himself impatiently against Richie’s mouth.  

“You want me to fuck you?” Richie pauses to ask, the question murmured into the warmth of Eddie’s thigh.  Eddie simply moans, his hand tightening in Richie’s hair again.  Richie smiles a little, hands sliding down to clutch at Eddie’s hips, licking at him a little faster, opening him up.  He bites the inside of his thigh and unwinds his arms from him.  “Turn over for me?”

And  _shit_ , Eds must really want it, because he crawls over onto his knees and pushes his ass back, all but presenting himself for him, loose tee still hanging from his frame.  Richie’s hand comes down to squeeze one of his cheeks in appreciation and opens him up so he can get another taste, Eddie’s breath catching.  He pushes himself back into Richie’s face.  “Baby,” Eddie gasps.  “Please.”

“Keep your pants on,” Richie smirks, finally pulling away, shuffling a little awkwardly off of the bed and out of his clothes.  “…While I take mine off.”  

He hears Eddie let out a soft, breathy chuckle into the inside of his elbow, where his face is tucked.  He quickly retrieves the lube from his nightstand and kneels behind Eddie, noticing with a hum how open he already is.  He coats his thumb and slips it inside experimentally, the rest of his fingers spread wide over Eddie’s cheek and squeezing.  Eddie’s face pushes into the pillow, but Richie can still hear his thick exhale.  He slips his thumb out, going for his middle and index finger instead, making quick work of it; when Eds is in this kind of mood, he knows better than to draw it out.  One of his hands tightens and loosens on the pillowcase as he pushes back onto Richie’s fingers, fucking himself on them, brow furrowed, a sight that goes straight to Richie’s dick.  He whines somewhat petulantly when Richie pulls his fingers out, prompting a gust of a laugh from him.  

“I’ve never seen you this impatient,” Richie murmurs, wrapping a wet, lubed up hand around his dick and stroking it, the other caressing Eddie’s lower back in reassurance.

“I want it,” Eddie says, working his hips back a little, searching blindly for Richie’s cock.

Richie exhales harshly through his nostrils.  “You’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”  And because he’s not above teasing Eddie when he’s being mouthy, he rubs the wet head of his cock against his hole until he’s keening.

“ _Rich_.”  It’s barely out of Eddie’s mouth before he’s pushing inside, nearly all the way, laying out on top of Eddie so he’s almost flattened to the mattress, licking his lips and letting out an utterly pleased little “ _Mmm._ ”

Richie kisses the back of his neck, letting himself enjoy this moment, too; he’s in so deep, and they fit together so well.  He folds his hands over Eddie’s where they’re still gripping the ends of the pillow, and uses his knees for leverage to slip more than halfway out and fuck into Eddie even deeper.  

Eddie lets out another  _Mm_ , and this time it’s higher pitched, like he was caught off guard.  His mouth drops open when Richie gets up to a quick, hard rhythm that’s getting him right where he needs it.   “Fuckfuck _fuck_.”

Richie smiles, biting at Eddie’s shoulder where it’s slipped out from his shirt again, keeping up that relentless rhythm.  “Better now?”  Eddie doesn’t answer.  “Huh?” Richie teases.

“I’m gonna come,” Eddie gasps, sounding surprised.  Richie slows the roll of his hips a little, but Eddie reaches back, clutching his hip.  “ _No, fast, keep going_ ,” he babbles, and Richie obliges, groaning as he feels Eddie’s muscles start to clench around him.  He watches Eddie’s profile as he starts panting, his sweet face going all twitchy with it.  Eventually, he lets out a deep groan into the pillow, muscles going impossibly tight and then relaxing under Richie.

Richie mouths at his neck, warm from exertion and pleasure, tipping them onto their sides and continuing to move his hips in slow, lazy rolls, hand sliding down to feel where Eddie came all over the bottom hem of his sleep shirt and then pushing through the now wet hair above his navel.  “What got into you this morning?”

Eddie turns and scrapes his teeth over Richie’s bottom lip.  “You did.  Still are.”  He presses a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth.  “What a stupid question.”


	23. Gibberish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Idk if you’re taking requests but I would DIE for some reddie fluff rn like something cute about richie loving eddies laugh or like richie loving sleepy and giggly Eddie 😭 only if you’re up for it of course! 😊❤️

Eddie doesn’t know it, but just before he’s about to fall asleep, he speaks gibberish.  Richie’s never told him because he’s afraid that if he does, Eddie’ll somehow stop.  He’s not sure how he’d manage that, since it’s pretty clear that his incoherent babbling is totally involuntary, but Eddie’s a determined little shit, so Richie’s confident he’d find a way.  

It’s just one of the reasons Richie loves talking his ear off late at night.  Eds’ll be curled into him under the covers, fists balled up loosely underneath his chin, resting on Richie’s chest, toes twitching against Richie’s calves as he starts drifting off.  When Richie hears his breath slow down, he’ll improvise some dumb story that makes almost as little sense as Eddie’s babbling, keeping his voice steady and slow so as not to disturb him.  

“…and then my mom turned to me and said, ‘I know your father’s a dentist, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat the whole box of Oreos in one day.’”

Eddie lets out a breathy hum of agreement.  Richie stays stock still, listening carefully.  “I mean… If the bike was green, you did what you had to do.”

Richie tries and fails to not shake with laughter.  Thankfully, Eddie isn’t disturbed–so he tries to engage with the nonsense that just came out of his mouth, murmuring, “But honey, what if the bike was purple?”

“…If you lived in Canada, I guess it’d be okay.”  Eddie is painfully fucking adorable in these moments, voice all breathy and sweet, almost childlike.  

Yeah, Richie can never tell him.

“But what if I lived in Japan?”  Richie asks the question quietly into Eddie’s hair.  It smells like Eds’ shampoo, which smells like a creamsicle.  

Eddie hums again in thought, his breath gusting warmly over Richie’s clavicle, through his t-shirt.  “Then you’d need to have mini cupcakes.”

Richie giggles quietly, shaking his head.  “Oh, man.  You’re so lucky I don’t record this.”

There’s more after that, but Eddie’s voice is so breathy, Richie can barely make it out.  It sounds like,  _If you have cupcakes, you don’t even need a bike._

He pulls Eddie closer and presses a firm kiss to the top of his head, jostling him out of his almost-slumber.  He lets out a quiet snort, then pushes his face briefly into Richie’s chest.  “‘M falling asleep.”

“I can tell,” Richie says, voice full of mirth.  

Eddie settles into him again.  “G’night.  Love you.”  

Richie can feel his heart do a little flip under Eddie’s face.  “Love you too, pumpkin-pie,” he says, finally closing his own eyes, hand curled protectively around Eddie’s shoulder.  “Sleep tight.”


End file.
